


By Dawn's Early Light

by Grundy



Series: Daughters of Celebrían [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-10 12:57:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 43
Words: 69,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1159991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grundy/pseuds/Grundy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Buffy wasn't the only one who thought something wasn't quite right when Dawn appeared. Series of shorts written for Twisting the Hellmouth's Fic A Day challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Joyce frowned as she watched her daughters leave the house, Buffy still grumbling about having Dawn in tow. Something was not quite right, even though on the surface everything seemed normal. Something was nagging her, right at the back of her head.

She waited until she was sure the girls were really gone before she sat down on the floor. She’d started meditating recently, and it seemed to help her remember things whenever she got that irritating ‘I know I know it but can’t think of it right now’ feeling. She cleared her mind, expecting to remember something silly like having forgotten to empty the dryer.

That was when it all came flooding back.

First, the sudden clarity that she had not always had two daughters. Dawn was new. She had come from literally out of nowhere. Yesterday, she’d only had one daughter in her house. That was followed immediately by the shocking realization that Buffy was not her oldest daughter. She’d had another- and two sons. Buffy wasn’t her daughter’s name any more than hers was Joyce. How ever had she forgotten all this? It was so important!

Sinking deeper into her trance, she examined her own mind. Right on top of her memory, still fresh, she found the traces of the spell that accompanied Dawn’s appearance in their lives. However the girl had gotten here, she was unquestionably blood kin- though it might be difficult to explain to her husband. She didn’t know who had done this, but she didn’t trust whoever it was. She must protect the girl.

Below that, older by a good decade, she found traces of another spell. She hadn’t cast this one, either, but judging the workings, she would guess Watchers. Not Giles, of course- she’d have recognized his touch. Some other one. Meddling before she had known to be on her guard. Making her forget who she was, what she was.

And why she was here- she remembered it now. All of it. The dangerous journey over the mountains, the orcs, her desperate plea to the Valar- if they would not spare herself, at least her daughter should go unharmed. She had seen the glow in the air from the corner of her eye and taken it as an answer to her prayer. Clutching her daughter to her, she had dived into that light.

But it was not the salvation she had sought. Landing in this strange world, among mortals had been a severe shock. Learning how to fit in herself had been hard enough, but teaching her daughter- who had seen only a few summers- to speak the Mannish tongue instead of the language of her own people had been heartbreaking. She could only hope that when she found a way to return, Anariel would still be young enough to learn quickly.

Celebrian frowned as she came out of her trance. This bore investigation. Perhaps this new daughter had been sent to her and Anariel for a reason. She almost laughed as she realized her new daughter’s name was fitting. She would be Tindomiel. And her appearance made finding a way home more urgent than ever.


	2. Pulling Back The Curtain

Celebrian- she was finding it harder and harder to think of herself as ‘Joyce’ these days- frowned. Even when she hadn’t remembered who or what she really was, she had always known when her daughter was into mischief. She knew both girls were concerned about her headaches- if only she could tell them that suddenly having thousands of years of memories flooding back and missing her home and family were to blame.

Under normal circumstances, she might assume that since her daughter had her boyfriend in her room and had shooed her younger sister away, the mischief had to do with private time with the boyfriend. But she knew how preoccupied Anariel had been the past few days…

Letting her senses flow, as she hadn’t tried in years, she sensed that Anariel was about to try something with magic- probably related to her duty as the Slayer. But she was trying so hard to hide it from her mother and sister. That wasn’t normal, not since Joyce had become aware of what Buffy did. She touched her daughter’s mind lightly- and instantly withdrew when she realized what magic her daughter was working.

It couldn’t be helped, then. She would have to have the conversation with both girls soon. She left her room, following her daughter down the stairs.

“Buffy? Are you alright? You look a little out of it,” she said, noting her daughter’s altered state. She looked almost like an elf walking dream paths.

“No, I’m fine,” Anariel replied somewhat distantly, her eyes fixing on family photos. Walking around her mother, she went back upstairs- and suddenly Celebrian realized this situation could go badly, if her older daughter concluded the younger one did not belong here.

She flew up the stairs, into Tindomiel’s room just in time to intervene.

“Buffy! Let go of your sister right now!”

It was a command- and delivered in a tone not even the gwenyn at their most daring would have disobeyed.

“Mom, she’s not-“ Anariel abruptly trailed off, clearly unwilling to say it in front of Tindomiel.

“Yes, she is,” Celebrian said flatly.

“Mom, you don’t understand.”

“Yes, Anariel, I do,” Celebrian replied firmly. “More than you, I suspect.”

“What is going on?” Tindomiel demanded, as her sister stared at their mother.

“What did you call me?” Anariel asked, in disbelief, eyes narrowing as she glanced from her sister to her mother.

“You will both sit,” Celebrian commanded. “Without debate.”

Her daughters both obediently folded themselves onto the bed- as far away from each other as they could manage while still occupying the same piece of furniture.

“Anariel-“ she stopped herself abruptly. Calling her daughter by a name she didn’t remember was hers would not help. “Buffy. You were about to say that Dawn is not your sister. Does that feel true to you?”

Her daughter’s lip jutted rebelliously, but she did stop to think before answering. Celebrian was encouraged to realize that Buffy reached out cautiously with her fëa, as an elf would.

“I know she’s my sister, but-“

“But she wasn’t here a few weeks ago,” Celebrian finished. “I know.”

Now it was her younger daughter’s turn to be outraged.

“What?” she shrieked.

Celebrian sighed to herself and reflected that the drawback of whoever had created this daughter assuming that they were children of Men was that her daughter had a distressing tendency to be louder than most elflings in a similar situation- though she admitted the tendency to the dramatic both girls seemed to have could probably be blamed on her husband.

“Dawn, please?” she said mildly. “I said you weren’t here a few weeks ago. That does not make you any less my daughter or Buffy’s sister. You are here now, the manner of your creation is immaterial.”

In this discussion, at least. Celebrian still wanted very much to know who had sent Dawn to them and why. There must be some purpose to it.

“Mom?” Anariel asked, puzzled.

“I think it may be related to your Slayer thing, honey,” Celebrian said, reaching for her Joyce persona. “The important thing is that we must protect your sister- she has been sent to us for a reason. Until we discover what that reason may be, I would appreciate it if you girls refrained from trying to kill each other.”

Buffy looked at her, still not quite sure. Celebrian could feel her wavering.

“I believe your usual procedure is to do research?” Celebrian prompted. “Or perhaps patrol to see if something turns up?”

Buffy shot off the bed, then stopped halfway to the door.

“But Mom, your headaches-“

“You were blaming her headaches on me?” Dawn demanded indignantly. “I’ve been so good all week! I even brought her tea made just like the instructions on the box say to do it!”

“My headaches are nothing to do with Dawn,” Celebrian assured her daughters. “They will pass soon. In fact, I think I am already well enough to stop the medicine the doctors recommended. I’m feeling fine this evening. So, Buffy, go see what you can discover about how Dawn came to be here. I feel sure there is something important we are missing.”

“You sound like you know something you’re not telling us,” Buffy said slowly.

“I do,” Celebrian replied. “And I will tell you when the time is right. Until then, it may be that you are both safer not knowing.”

Her daughters exchanged a glance, before Buffy marched out of the room and down the stairs. Listening to the door shut rather firmly behind her, Celebrian reflected that vampires and demons would do well to stay away from her tonight. Buffy was in a mood to beat something. Her brothers would be so delighted with their smaller sister’s temperament.

Assuming, of course, Celebrian found a way to take herself and her daughters safely home.

“You called Buffy Anariel,” Dawn said, neatly interrupting her mother’s train of thought.

“So I did.”

“That’s her real name, isn’t it?” Dawn asked with a frown. “It wasn’t an accident.”

“I said I would tell both of you girls when the time was right.”

Dawn pouted.

“Why does Buffy get another name? She already has a cooler name than I do, how come she gets a fancy one too?”

“You have another name also,” Celebrian told her, hoping to head off what could be a longwinded whine.

“I do?” Dawn exclaimed. “What is it?”

“Tindomiel.”

For a moment, Dawn was silent, and Celebrian could see her rolling the name around in her mouth, trying it on. Then her youngest daughter’s expression turned smug.

“Mine’s prettier.”


	3. The Last Homely House

Celebrian knew. She couldn’t have said how she knew, but she was certain that the time was upon them. They would be returning home very soon now. That was why she had invited all her daughter’s friends over. One last time. One last dinner with all of them together.

She would have liked to invite Spike, especially since Riley wasn't here. She knew that Riley and Buffy were having difficulties, so that had given her the perfect excuse to omit him from the guest list. She didn’t want any chance that the problems of this world would follow her home. She didn’t fully understand the rulers of this world, but they had already caused her daughter enough trouble.

She smiled as she passed the potatoes down the table. She would miss them all, Willow, and Xander, and even Giles. She hoped they would be all right after. She knew both her daughters would miss them terribly as well. She was glad to see that Anya and Tara were both present. They would be moral support for their respective partners.

“Now, Buffy, Giles,” she began, seeing both of them start at being addressed at the same time. “Why don’t you tell us what you’ve discovered about the Key.”

Dawn sat up a little straighter as well. She was intensely curious. Celebrian shuddered to think what might have ensued had she not told her youngest child that she knew she was new and hadn’t been made in the usual way before Dawn had read the Watcher’s journal.

“The Key was originally pure energy,” Giles said. “It has the power to unlock the gates between dimensions.”

“Which dimensions?” Dawn asked eagerly.

“All of them, if used properly,” Giles replied. “The Order of Dagon has been protecting it for several centuries. Recently, they came to fear that the god Glorificus, who we know as Glory, would seek to use the Key. Their solution was to send it to the Slayer in the form of a sister, knowing she would protect her sister with her very life if necessary.”

Dawn chewed her lip.

“So I wasn’t really real until they did that,” she said.

“No, you are real,” Celebrian corrected gently. “But part of you is much older than your body, and your soul is younger- what our people would call your fëa.”

“Your people?” Xander blurted out. He stopped hastily. Celebrian suspected Willow had just kicked him underneath the table. Anya would not have bothered.

“Yes, Joyce, do please explain,” Giles said, focusing his full attention onto her.

Joyce stood up.

“My daughters have known for several weeks now that there was something different,” she said.

“You’re not still having headaches, are you?” Willow asked in concern. “Because that could be a sign of-“

“No, Willow, no more headaches, but it’s good of you to be concerned,” Celebrian told her with a smile. “The headaches were triggered by the spell the monks used when they put Dawn into our lives. I was not aware, but I had previously been victim of a memory spell. This newer spell destabilized the old one, and when I began meditating, my true memories returned.”

“And what would those be?” Buffy asked quietly.

Celebrian looked at her daughters. Buffy had been curious, and a little reluctant to fully accept Dawn, but now that she had, she was ready to protect her from any threat- even their mother, if necessary. Dawn had slipped a hand into her older sisters, in need of silent reassurance.

“My name is not Joyce,” Celebrian said, quietly but firmly. “It is Celebrian. And I am not human. My people call themselves the Eldar, the firstborn, though I believe you would call us elves- that was what the humans of our world called us.”

“That’s why you’re so freakishly short,” Dawn whispered to her sister- perfectly audible to everyone- in mock surprise.

“I was being hunted by what you might consider demons in our world, when I found a tear between two worlds- though I did not realize that was what it was. I saw only an escape for myself and my small daughter, Anariel.”

All heads swiveled to regard Buffy.

“You called me that before,” Buffy said thoughtfully. “That night-“

“Yes,” Celebrian agreed.

At the same time, Dawn piped up, “My name’s prettier, though. Tell them my name, Mom!”

“Tindomiel, you must learn patience,” Celebrian chided. “Elves are longer lived than men, there is no need to rush. You have plenty of time.”

She forbore to mention that by ‘longer lived’, she meant ‘immortal’. She had a feeling the others had enough to take in as it was.

“What do you call your world?”

That was Anya, and Celebrian realized there might actually be an unexpected benefit to her presence.

“Arda. We are from Arda,” she said. “Do you know of it?”

“I know of it,” Anya replied. “But I’ve never been there. The protections around your world are woven very tightly. There must have been something very powerful and very malicious at work to rip a hole so conveniently close to you- no vengeance demon could have managed it. You’re talking big leagues.”

“There are several powers of evil that might have thought to wreak mischief in that way,” Celebrian said. “Though I think it would be mischief only. I am not mighty among my people, nor numbered among the Wise, and my daughter was too young to be a threat to anyone.”

“You never know,” Anya said doggedly. “Look what she’s accomplished here, and it’s not even her native dimension. Imagine what she could be if she was on home ground. It matters, you know.”

Celebrian imagined for a second, and it nearly took her breath away. With proper training, Anariel would be the very figure of an elven warrior, maybe equal to even some of the mightiest names among the Eldar. Glorfindel should take her in hand…

And that was enough. It was certain. They needed to go home. Perhaps even tonight.

“Is there a particular reason you have chosen to share this with us, Joyce? Pardon me, Celebrian?” Giles asked.

“Indeed there is,” Celebrian responded. “When Tindomiel was sent to us, I sensed that something had changed. I remembered home. And now I think with Tindomiel’s power, we finally have a way to return.”

“That would solve the Glory problem,” Buffy said brightly. “Without the Key, she couldn’t follow us! Dawn would be safe.”

Dawn looked equally delighted. The Glory situation had been wearing on her. Buffy had been hypervigilant the last few weeks. Celebrian hadn’t had the heart to tell her that when they returned home, she would doubtless find that Anariel’s watchfulness would be outdone by Arwen, the twins, and Elrond- once they got over the shock of finding out that not one, but two elflings were returning with her.

“Anya? Willow? Tara? Is there a way to tap Tindomiel’s power to return us to Arda?” Celebrian asked.

The three women exchanged glances.

“I think so,” Willow said slowly.

“Definitely,” Anya corrected. “Come on, there are some things we’ll need from the Magic Box. And-“

She stopped abruptly, suddenly looking upset.

“This is for good, isn’t it? This will mean we have to say goodbye. You’re going to go and never come back.”


	4. From Sunnydale to Rivendell

Celebrian looked around the room. It had once been her living room, but no more. After tonight it would be Giles’ living room, and Faith’s. They would be staying. The others- her daughter’s sister and brother of the heart and their lovers had been unanimous in their desire to come with her to Arda, unknown though it was. Even after Celebrian had explained as gently as she could that Anariel and Tindomiel would neither age nor be subject to the Gift of Men- not unless they chose that path.

In truth, in the deepest part of her heart, Celebrian feared Anariel might. She had no memory of Arda or life among the Eldar- how could she, young as she had been? It was true that Tindomiel had never known these things either, but Tindomiel was also younger and less bound to the world of Men. Anariel had spent years of her mortal life as their champion, blessed by whatever greater powers watched over this world. She had been ready to sacrifice all for them, and that Willow and Xander had refused to let her go into the unknown without them might well tip the balance when the day came for her to choose her fate.

But that day was surely long in the future, at least as long as the life of the Secondborn- the children accompanying her children would be cherished and protected in her husband’s house or in her mother’s realm for as long as they lived. For now, the task was to return home.

She had been uncertain what if anything they could take with them- after all, she had arrived with nothing but Anariel. But in the end, every one of the children had a small pack with them, with a few favored items of clothing and those most precious possessions they couldn’t bear to leave behind- in Anariel’s case, mostly weapons, but also a certain stuffed pig; Tindomiel brought her only weapon, a crossbow her sister had gifted her, but was also hugging a black leather jacket she was currently trying not to drizzle with tears; Willow’s choice had been some books and a laptop with a solar charger she had liquidated her life savings to pay for; Xander had packed a few comic books and a small box he had diligently kept from Anya’s sight, which had made Celebrian smile- she suspected he would find the smiths of Imladris and Lorien produced far finer work than he could hope to afford here.

Tara and Anya carried the least. Tara had only a small duffel bag. She had decided that Miss Kitty Fantastico should remain here, as there was no telling how she might react to a change in dimensions. She had been given over to Faith, much to the newly released Slayer’s surprise. Anya, upon learning that American money would be of no use in Arda, had proceeded to quiz Celebrian thoroughly on what life in Arda might be like and what materials would be useful for barter despite all assurances that Buffy’s family would certainly be able to provide them living space, food, and work in abundance without thought of money. In the end, she had produced a small case of precious and semi-precious stones, on the logic that at least some of them were bound to be unusual enough to fetch a decent price.

Celebrian’s own pack contained a few small handcrafted things she thought might be of interest to the folk of Imladris, and photos of her daughters so her family need not feel like they had lost a cherished elfling only to regain two strangers. And, of course, some food. As the only true adult in this expedition, she had prepared for the eventuality that the portal would not work as smoothly as hoped and they might enter Arda a long journey from her home or her mother’s realm.

She turned to Giles, who stood with a clearly uncomfortable Faith at his side. Spike had already said his goodbyes, and hadn’t been seen since. She hoped he would return- the two remaining to continue the fight against the darkness could use an ally. Anariel’s strength had been that she didn’t fight alone.

“I suppose this is it, Rupert,” she said. “If Willow and Tara are ready, that is?”

The two witches nodded.

“All we need to finish the spell and open the portal is a drop of Dawn’s blood,” Willow said. “Once we add that, hello yellow brick road.”

Celebrian smiled at the thought of the linguistic confusion her daughters and their friends were about to unleash on Imladris.

“We will miss you, Rupert. Take care of Faith. I foresee that she will need guidance to rediscover her courage. But once she does, she will be as great a champion as any your Council has known.”

Faith managed a small smile. Celebrian knew the girl barely trusted anyone, even herself, after all she’d been through. She just hoped that her small vote of confidence might help the girl shoulder the burden that now fell to her.

The children all said their goodbyes, with a good deal of sniffling and in Tindomiel’s case, unabashed tears. Celebrian held her daughter’s hand tightly as she offered the other to Willow, who pricked one finger with a small silver knife. Then she gripped both her daughters tightly as the two witches chanted their spell.

As promised, the portal opened. Celebrian focused on Imladris, on home, her husband, her sons, and their people- that, Tara had told her, would help anchor the other side of the portal where they wanted it instead of some random place in Arda. It seemed to work- through the shimmer in the air, she could see the river bank she knew so well, and hear the cheerful burble of Bruinen.

Willow and Tara finished their chant and stood.

“We have to step through quickly,” Willow said. “I don’t know how long the portal will stay stable. It will close as soon as we go.”

“Everyone grab someone’s hand,” Anariel ordered. “We don’t want anyone getting left on the wrong side of the portal. Dawn goes through first-“

“No,” Celebrian corrected, “I go through first. I don’t want any misunderstandings.”

Especially since such misunderstandings would likely involve someone learning what an arrow wound felt like!

“Ok,” Anariel amended, “Mom goes first, and I go through last!”

Everyone linked hands, forming a chain. Celebrian stepped carefully through, mindful not to let go of Tindomiel’s hand even in her joy at finally setting foot on the soil of her home world. She was unsurprised to see sentries that she doubted the others would notice observing them from the trees. Turning, she saw the others trooping through the portal, Anariel coming through as she called a final farewell to Giles.

True to Willow’s word, the second Anariel came through the portal, it sealed itself behind them. It felt very right, as if the very fabric of the world was knitting itself back together, whole as it hadn’t been before.

Celebrian was unsurprised to see the first elf to step out where they could see him was Glorfindel. His shock at who had arrived on the banks of Bruinen was evident to her, though she wasn’t sure the children would see it, unused to elves as they were.

“This is an unlooked for surprise,” he greeted her. “We had despaired of seeing you again on this side of the sea, my lady. And who might these be?”

Celebrian drew Tindomiel and Anariel to her.

“Anariel I think you remember, though she was much smaller the last time you saw her,” she said.

“She’s still pretty small now,” Tindomiel muttered, irrepressible as ever.

“And this is my youngest daughter, Tindomiel,” Celebrian finished, speaking as though no one had heard the comment, even though every elf in Imladris would doubtless know of it by nightfall. “The others are friends of my daughters who would not be parted from them.”

Glorfindel’s eyebrows rose as he regarded Tindomiel, with only a quick glance at the rest of the group.

“I can see you have much to tell us. But that can wait. There are others who will wish to welcome you home first.”

Indeed, she could hear the hoofbeats heralded the rapid approach of at least two others who could not wait. She was unsurprised to see both Elladan and Elrohir come flying into the clearing. Elladan, ever the more sedate one, reined his horse to a halt and dismounted with dignity, but Elrohir simply vaulted clear of his mount.

“Nana! It is true, you have returned to us!” he exclaimed, striding up to hug her tightly while his twin came to stand behind him.

“Mom, who’s that and why’s he calling you Nana? I know you said immortal, but you’re not old enough to be anyone’s grandmother, right?” Tindomiel demanded.

Celebrian smiled as she pulled free to regard her sons fondly. The folk of Imladris weren’t the only ones in for a surprise.

“Anariel, Tindomiel,” she said. “This is Elrohir and that is Elladan.”

“Hi,” Anariel said cautiously, only to be picked up and swung joyfully around by Elrohir, much to her sister’s amusement.

“Whoa! What the-“

“They are your brothers,” Celebrian finished. Mentally, she counted, reaching three before the stunned silence gave way to the children-except for Tara, who had retreated to a safer position near Glorfindel and seemed to be speaking quietly to him- all talking or protesting at once.

“We have brothers?”

“Mom, you didn’t say anything about brothers!”

“I remember only one sister- how is it there are two now?”

“Arwen is going to love having two small sisters to boss around.”

“Did Joyce mention Buffy having hot brothers before?”

“Ahn, not now.“

“Which one is which?”

Celebrian smiled. It was good to be home.


	5. All's Right With The World

Celebrian watched from the balcony, comfortable in her husband’s embrace, as her sons tested Anariel’s skills. Blessed as she had been with the gifts of the Slayer, one would barely notice that her archery was not quite that of an elleth her age- although as far as Celebrian knew, she had never held a proper bow before. Looking at her now, Elladan correcting her stance ever so subtly while Elrohir encouraged her, Celebrian could almost pretend that the years away had never happened. All was as it should be- well, almost.

She had yet to see her eldest daughter. Arwen, it transpired, was in the Golden Wood visiting her grandparents- though her visit would be cut short now that Celebrian’s mother was aware of her daughter’s return. Lothlorien would feast as joyously as Imladris tonight, and then the Evenstar would bid Celeborn and Galadriel farewell, returning to her father’s house to greet her mother and sisters.

In their elder sister’s absence, what seemed like all the ellith in Imladris had fussed over both girls, washing them, dressing them, fixing their hair in the style of the Eldar rather than that of the Men of the other world they had lived in, and settling them in their rooms. Willow, Tara, and Anya all came in for their share of the fuss as well.

The twins had regarded the oncoming tide of female elfdom for all of two seconds before they whisked Xander away to a safe distance, in this case the room they’d appropriated for him. Celebrian was sure they would at some point show him the bathing pools and offer him the chance to try elven garb if he desired. Before she had left them, she’d seen them curiously watching the lone male in their mother’s party unpack- if they didn’t discover it for themselves, she meant to drop a hint to them about a certain small box, and how its content might be improved upon.

With all her children occupied, that had left her free to enjoy a more private reunion with her husband. Elrond, despite his confusion at welcoming back two daughters instead of one, was happy beyond words to see them returned safely to their rightful home. It was only now, after expressing their joy in a more physical way, that they got around to words.  
“How long has it been?” she asked softly.

“Nearly three yeni,” Elrond replied, holding her still as though he feared to let go even for an instant. “We thought you dead. Our sons have slain many yrch to avenge you and their small sister.”

He paused.

“Was it that long for you also?”

Celebrian smiled, remembering how insightful her husband could be.

“No. Time ran… differently for us. It was not so long, only a handful of loa. Though it seemed long, for we lived as Edain. Our memories were gone, so we knew no different. And for Anariel, young as she was, there was so little to remember.”

She both heard and felt his sharp intake of breath as he understood she meant that they had lived as mortals, unaware of who they were.

“And Tindomiel? How do we come to have a second daughter?” Elrond asked carefully.

“She was sent to us by the Valar, my love,” Celebrian replied. “With her came the power to return, for otherwise I know not how we might have travelled between worlds. That gift is hers alone- and it is well she was sent to us. An agent of Morgoth sought to bend her power to dark ends. Had we not been able to flee, both our daughters might have been killed.”

Her husband stiffened reflexively at the mention of the greatest of all foes of men and elves. She also felt his horror at the thought that his daughters might have truly died, for not knowing the choice offered them, they would have accepted the Gift.

“She brought us safely home, where that enemy cannot follow, and I know she will come to no harm here with her own people. Though all here is new to her, except for our companions. Our daughters’ sworn sisters and brother accompanied us, for they would not let us go into an unknown world alone.”

She felt the approval radiating from Elrond, and knew that for that, her husband and those who looked to him would honor the children for the rest of their days.

“What else has passed while we were away, husband?”

Elrond shrugged.

“No great events to speak of,” he said. “The dwarves of Thrain took Erebor and lost it again to the worm Smaug. The White Tower was rebuilt in Gondor, but the Tree has died. With the Steward's leave, Curunir took Orthanc for his abode. Mithrandir has discovered that the Necromancer is indeed Sauron, and he has made his stronghold in Dol Guldur. Mithrandir counsels that we move against him, yet Curunir urges patience. For the rest, men and dwarves were born and died. Lothlorien is much as it ever was, but Thranduil and his people are sorely pressed and must be cautious when they venture beyond their own halls.”

“The world is not changed so very much, then,” Celebrian said, not sure if she was relieved or disappointed.

“It is a better world tonight than it was yesterday,” her husband murmured into her hair, as their children’s laughter rang out in the courtyard below.


	6. Daddy's Girl

Celebrían was startled at the expression on her husband’s face when he entered the room –their private sitting room, a sanctuary which even the children were expected to knock before entering.

He looked so disappointed, almost diminished.

“My love, whatever is the matter?” she asked in concern.

“I have lost her,” he murmured sadly. “I wonder if this is how my father feels about his sons?”

“Who?” she repeated, now well on the way to alarm.

“Anariel,” was his dejected reply as he sank into the chair opposite hers.

Celebrían reached out to touch her daughter’s fëa briefly, just to reassure herself that all was well with her. She was puzzled to find Anariel also in a less than happy state. She was disappointed, with threads of both frustration and self-reproach running through her mind.

“What happened?” she asked sharply, wondering what cultural misunderstanding has occurred now.

The weeks since their return to Arda have not been easy for Anariel – who stubbornly sticks to calling herself Buffy, clinging onto her familiar name with a tenacity she does not realize may be hurting others. Her daughter, like most of the other children, had not given overly much thought to what moving worlds entailed beyond separation from Giles and others left behind. The children, after the initial excitement of arrival and reunion, are suffering from culture shock.

“She called me Adar,” Elrond told her, sounding heartbroken.

Celebrían blinked. That sounded to her like massive progress.

Anariel’s ideas of her own capabilities when it came to learning a new tongue were shaped by her frankly awful experience with high school French. She had been severely shaken to discover that Middle Earth did not speak American, or even English. Westron was close, but only for those willing to make an effort. And the languages of the elves had very little in common with it. Her daughter’s lack of confidence that she would ever master the words her parents and brothers used with such ease had been far more of a stumbling block to her effort to learn than anything else.

“But, my love, you are her adar,” Celebrían pointed out gently.

“None of the other children are ever so formal with me,” Elrond replied in bewilderment. “There was not even anyone around to make her feel she might need to…”

He trailed off.

Now Celebrían dimly understood.

It would have been only the two of them, because Anariel will hardly have wished to try out a new word – particularly one that should be so simple, one that other elves have no memory of learning, because they have known it from their earliest days – in front of anyone other than her family. Even then, she would rather it be only her father or mother who heard, because she does not trust Tindomiel not to laugh, or want her brothers to think her as stupid as she feels.

She could picture it all too well. Anariel tentatively attempting the word, hoping that she has it right, and when Elrond did not respond as she’d hoped, no doubt covering it with one of those smiles she wears well enough to fool all but those who know her well.

Elrond does not know her well, because he has not had the chance.

Just as her daughter does not know that to the man who could have called himself High King of the Noldor had he wished it, ada is the title he holds dearer than any other. His children are his joy, and he has always endeavored to ensure that their childhoods were happy, not blighted as his had been.

“Husband,” Celebrían said with some asperity, “she does not know enough to understand that she was being formal.”

The startled hope in his eyes made her heart ache.

She kept it brief, but explained as best she could the damage that wretched French teacher had done to their daughter’s confidence. By the time she is finished, he was fuming that someone so unsuited to the task was permitted to teach children.

She wondered, watching him as he complained, how Maedhros had taught him and his brother. Her parents speak of the eldest son of Fëanor as having been fierce and reclusive by the time he and Maglor took the twins into their care, forbidding even to those who had known him in the days of his youth. Yet her husband clearly had no harsh teacher as a child.

Elrond suddenly stopped.

“But how can we correct her without upsetting her further?” he asked. “I wish her to know, but I also wish her to not become still shyer about trying out Sindarin.”

Celebrían smiled.

“Leave that to me, my dear,” she told him.

It was quite simple. She only needed to wait until later that afternoon, when both her husband and her daughter were sitting in the library – and she did hope Elrond noticed that Anariel had taken to ending up wherever her father happened to be whenever she had time not claimed by her brothers or her mortal friends. It was clear to her, at least, that Anariel wished to be close to her father but was uncertain how to go about it, given the less than pleasant memories she had of the man she’d believed to be her father in California.

With both of them in one place, Celebrían went ‘looking’ for Elrond, asking her youngest daughter if she knew where her father was.

Just as she’d expected, Tindomiel knew exactly where he was, and was more than happy to show her. She went skipping in ahead of her mother, cheerfully calling out as she did.

“Ada! Nana’s looking for you!”

Celebrían could see Anariel cock her head curiously, before asking – in English, of course – what her sister had just said. Elrond would probably not be able to follow the conversation, but that was to the good, as she suspected Anariel did not particularly want him to know what was passing.

“ _What did you call dad?_ ” she asked Tindomiel quietly.

“ _Dad_ ,” her sister replied.

“ _But I thought_ adar _was dad_ ,” Anariel protested.

“ _No, that’s father,_ ” Tindomiel assured her. “ _You already know naneth is mother, but we never call her that unless there are visitors or people we don’t know that well around._ ”

“ _Oh._ ”

“ _If you want, I can tell you the words for sister and brother, too. And twins._ ”

“ _That would be cool, but maybe later. Speaking of twins, I think they’re heading for the stables._ ”

With that, Tindomiel bounced back out the door, unable to resist the combination of big brothers and horses.

“ _Anariel, what have you been doing?_ ” Celebrían asked, knowing perfectly well what the answer was, and making sure to speak slowly enough that her husband can understand.

“Seeing ada read,” her daughter replied, boldly attempting an entire sentence. “ _And thinking that the book must not be very interesting, because he keeps staring out the window instead._ ”

Celebrían decided this was not the time to explain the difference between ‘see’ and ‘watch’. One word at a time. There is no rush. And Tindomiel had neatly explained the most important word today.

Elrond hadn’t smiled, but his entire demeanor softened at the sound of his daughter calling him ‘ada’.

“That, my sunshine, is because I have been wondering what you were doing here when these are _‘not your sort of books’_.”

Even if she hasn’t understood everything he said before quoting her, Anariel did pick up on his warm tone and seemed to grasp the gist of it. This smile is one of her genuine ones, and Celebrían knows Elrond’s sharp eyes have spotted the difference.

“ _What, can’t a girl want to hang out with her dad… um,_ ada?”


	7. Over The River And Through The Woods

Buffy still felt nervous about leaving Dawn behind- even though in this case, ‘behind’ meant leaving Dawn at home in the care of both her parents. It was all the gwenyn’s fault. Her incredibly irritating brothers had gotten the brilliant idea that as the ‘baby’, Dawn should have some bonding time with her parents and sister without the three of them underfoot. And Buffy needed to meet her grandparents. So they’d somehow persuaded Celebrian and Elrond that it made total sense for them to drag her off to Lothlorien while Dawn stayed at Imladris.

It had taken the two of them together to wrestle Buffy onto her horse over her protests. (It totally wouldn’t have worked if she didn’t have to worry about what Mom and Ada would say if she broke either of her brothers. Or both of them.) Willow had been enthused about the idea of coming along, but Xander had been reluctant- Buffy wasn’t the only one who had been put on a horse against her better judgement.

Consequently, two of the party making camp for the night were in a foul mood. Buffy hadn’t spoken to her brothers all afternoon. Willow and Tara had retreated to the relative safety of the cave they’d found, while Elladan- who Buffy had decided was definitely her smarter brother- had announced he would be in charge of providing dinner tonight and vanished into the trees.

Xander pulled Anya away to find a clearing of their own for a discussion Buffy could still overhear about how in a relationship, people decided important things together- she didn’t get to make unilateral decisions for both of them. Buffy tried not to listen after that.

Besides, she had a target for her own ire right in front of her.

“Alright, Elroy, what gives? There is no reason we had to go visit the grandparents right now.”

Elrohir smirked, ignoring her deliberate mangling of his name. He knew perfectly well that she had no trouble recalling his name- or any of several insulting variations thereof Tindomiel had already worked out. He also knew that if it came to names, all he had to do to wind his small sister up was call her by her given name, as she preferred the odd mannish one she’d grown accustomed to in the other world.

“Of course there is.”

Buffy glared at him. It annoyed her no end that her glares had zero effect on her brothers- if anything, they were amused when she did. This time was no exception.

“Think, little one. Arwen has just returned.”

“Yeah, and…?” Buffy demanded. “I’m already over not being the oldest.”

“We noticed. We like to think our good influence had something to do with that. However, we also noticed that someone else did not exactly welcome her older sister.”

Buffy paused. This was the most annoying part about having older brothers. They were often right.

Against all expectation, Dawn and Arwen had not taken to each other. More accurately, Dawn hadn’t taken to Arwen, to general surprise. Buffy knew from things she’d overheard that everyone had been holding their breath to see her reaction to her older sister. They’d just assumed that Dawn and Arwen would get along.

She was being honest when she told Elrohir that not being oldest wasn’t really that big a deal- after all, by the time Arwen got home, they’d had nearly a month to adjust to Arda. After several weeks in the company of brothers a few thousand years old, a big sister wasn’t such a big deal. Arwen seemed nice enough. A little bit of a queen bee vibe, but then Buffy could only imagine what it had been like for her to live with her dad and brothers after Buffy and her mom had gone missing. She was pretty sure Arwen had gotten the full on ‘daddy’s precious princess’ treatment.

That might have been what got Dawn’s hackles up, but then again, it could have been something else entirely. She had no idea what, though. Arwen was super excited to have two little sisters to dote on, and that seemed to be her main mission right now- spoiling her kid sisters rotten. Buffy hadn’t gotten to ask what exactly had rubbed her little sister the wrong way, seeing as their stupid brothers had given it all of two days before hustling her off.

To be fair, her brothers had half a point about getting the heck out of dodge for the duration. It was probably on now- Arwen had been perfectly nice to Dawn until Dawn had managed to find something equivalent to itching powder and treated Arwen’s hairbrush early that morning.

“So your solution is to run off to hide at grandpa and grandma’s place?”

Elrohir smiled, pleased that she was such a quick study.

“Exactly. Grandmother and Grandfather will be pleased to see you, and we want to be there to see their reactions. Also, we think they will be curious to meet your companions. And we will all be at a safe distance while Arwen and Tindomiel fight it out. I think Adar can be trusted to make sure everyone ends up alive and with all their hair. If not, perhaps Glorfindel can intervene. He has fought a Balrog, after all…”

“Glorfindel hightailed it out this morning as soon as he heard Arwen shrieking,” Buffy informed her brother.

“One of our greatest warriors thought it prudent to retreat yet you question our wisdom?” Elrohir asked with a raised eyebrow.

Buffy rolled her eyes.

“Fine, you win, it’s a great plan. Tell Elladan he can quit skulking around the woods. To grandmother’s house we go.”


	8. The Song Remains The Same

“Eww!”

Buffy’s nose wrinkled as she surveyed her feet. New dimension, new demons, but some things stayed the same- they always managed to ruin her footwear.

Despite the occasional annoyance like icky demon blood on her nice new boots, the trip to her grandparents was looking up. Xander and Anya had made up- thankfully far enough away that no one else had to hear, not that Anya hadn’t filled them in later on the fact that orgasms had happened. Willow and Tara were enjoying getting to know Middle Earth, and were thrilled to see much more of it than they would have staying at Imladris.

Buffy was learning how to ride. She’d progressed past the basics pretty quickly, with encouragement from the twins to try some tricks that probably would have upset their mother greatly had she been there to see them. But more importantly, she was also getting a chance to hunt. She was killing demons- yrch, her brothers called them- fairly regularly, which was a relief after being cooped up at home so long with elder siblings who seemed to think that she was fragile and in need of protection no matter how proficient she showed herself with weapons.

Which brought her neatly to the best part of this trip (aside, of course, from its main purpose- being elsewhere while Dawn and Arwen either learned to get along or killed each other.) Elladan and Elrohir were getting an education in just how fragile their ‘small sister’ wasn’t.

The look on their faces when she’d single-handedly taken out the first group of orcs they’d encountered in the foothills of the Hithaeglir had been seriously smug-making. Since then, the three of them had been gradually learning how to work together- as equals, not as big brothers and their kid sister who needed rescuing. As she’d told them after the first fight, if they wanted to save someone, hang around Tindomiel on a Tuesday.

Elladan raised an enquiring eyebrow at her expression.

“Problem, little one?” he asked.

She’d given up fighting about ‘little one’, ‘small sister’, and pretty much anything else they called her that made reference to her decidedly non-Elvish size. (Dad had explained, but it was long and boring and while Willow had been riveted by the complexities, Buffy had tuned out. The gist was that elfling + Slayer = midget. She wasn’t bothered- like Faith had said, they were hot chicks with superpowers. Why fuss over a few inches?)

“Why is it they always manage to get blood on my shoes?” she asked plaintively.

She had, however, insisted her brothers call her Buffy. While Dawn had taken to her elvish name instantly, Buffy was too used to being Buffy to change. It was the name she’d lived in for as long as she could remember, the name she’d made. She’d answer to it when her parents used it, mostly on account of not wanting to hurt their feelings, but they were the only ones.

“I suppose they must take revenge in any way they can,” Elrohir snickered. “The shoes can be washed.”

“They’ll take forever to dry,” Buffy protested.

“Yes, but washing would be useless,” Elladan pointed out. “We are not yet out of the mountains, and likely to encounter more orcs before we reach the borders of Lorien. Your shoes will doubtless suffer further indignities.”

Buffy frowned.

“Just let my shoes be a mess?” she demanded. “That’s your solution?”

“Or improve your archery so the orcs don’t have a chance to bleed all over you,” Elrohir suggested brightly.


	9. Little Sister

Tindomiel frowned at the skinny kid swinging a wooden sword. He was mortal, she knew that much. She hadn’t realized there were Edain here in Imladris. Unfortunately, the people she normally would have turned to at this point for more information were all elsewhere. That meant if she wanted to know more, she would have to suck it up and ask Arwen.

She wasn’t sure which was more galling, that she was going to have to be nice to her prim princessy oldest sister, or that Buffy had gotten to go off on an adventure with their brothers and take Willow, Tara, Xander, and Anya with her. It was totally unfair.

Nana had so not mentioned when she told them about Arda that in addition to Buffy, she had two big brothers and a big sister.

The Els weren’t so bad- in fact, they were downright fun. Ada had scolded them quite a few times about being bad influences on her, not that it had stopped them continuing to show her how to do fun things like rearrange Ada’s library or hide Glorfindel’s favorite sword. Buffy thought their brothers were funny, too, even though they annoyed her a lot, like when they told her she didn’t know anything about weapons.

All in all, Tindomiel- she had slipped out of using Dawn almost as soon as they’d settled into Imladris- had decided brothers weren’t so bad. She could even overlook their occasional big brotherly freakout, when they acted more like responsible adults and yelled at her for playing with Buffy’s new dagger or sneaking down to the Bruinen in the middle of the night to see if it really would rise if she asked it to. It wasn’t like they did it when she hadn’t done anything.  
Arwen was a different story, though.

First off, she hadn’t even been there when Celebrian, Tindomiel, Buffy, and their friends arrived in Imladris. She’d been off visiting their grandparents- the same grandparents everyone else was going to visit now, in far-away Lothlorien. By the time she’d gotten back, Tindomiel had gotten used to the way her family was now- Ada, Nana, the gwenyn, Buffy, and her, plus the Scoobies.

When Arwen had finally shown up, she had immediately gotten on Tindomiel’s nerves by assuming that she could just step into Buffy’s place as the big sister. Tindomiel didn’t care that technically Arwen was the big sister- as far as she was concerned, that spot had to be earned. Buffy could boss her around by virtue of having been there for as long as she could remember (even if they were fake memories), not to mention saving her a lot and not flipping out when she realized that Tindomiel hadn’t always been there. Plus, Buffy being instantly ok with leaving California permanently as soon as she understood it would keep Tindomiel safe was pretty big, too. The gwenyn were allowed to boss her if they wanted, because they were cool and fun and didn’t do it too often.

But Arwen was a natural bossypants, and she’d started throwing her weight around as soon as she got back. She’d acted like her youngest sister was either a baby or an idiot who couldn’t do anything right. “Tindomiel, wouldn’t you rather try this gown?” “Tindomiel, have you learned your letters yet?” “Tindomiel, are you sure you can ride?”

Tindomiel had held out for a week before she snapped and short-sheeted her oldest sister’s bed. When that didn’t make any impression, she’d escalated her pranks gradually until she’d finally found something that made Arwen react- turned out screwing with Arwen’s haircare routine was something no one did. The sound her oldest sister had made when she’d used the hairbrush Tindomiel had treated was something she would treasure forever.

Even funnier, despite being related to the gwenyn, somehow Arwen had never been involved in a prank war, so she had no real idea how to retaliate. Buffy wouldn’t have let something like that pass without having her little sister walking eggshells for a week worried about what was going to happen. Arwen’s response was to stomp off to Ada. Tindomiel had laughed herself sick, even after she’d been called into Ada’s study to be scolded and ordered to apologize.

Of course, Arwen had gotten revenge in a different form. She’d gotten herself put in charge of her baby sister’s lessons, meaning Tindomiel was stuck with her several hours a day with no way around it- and no one was showing her the least bit of sympathy about it, either. Of course, almost everyone who would have been sympathetic was gone- even Glorfindel was away.

Tindomiel had been torn about what to do in her lessons- on the one hand, it would be super satisfying to be obstinate and drive Arwen crazy. On the other hand, until she learned the script used here in Arda, not to mention the other languages, she couldn’t read much, and Ada’s library was supposed to be one of the best in Middle Earth. So she’d settled for sullen efficiency- she’d learn as fast as she could, but she didn’t have to look like she liked it, and she didn’t have to make it easy for her sister.

So being in the position of having to voluntarily ask Arwen for information was maddening. Especially since Arwen had lately taken to making her concede something for every question she answered. “Why is Telerin not considered to be Quenya?” had only been answered in return for suffering through fittings for three new gowns and letting Arwen do her hair in a new style.

And she knew perfectly well if she asked any other elf, they were going to tell her she should ask her sister. Even Ada and Nana had taken to directing her to Arwen. On the other hand, if she went to Arwen directly, without being sent, maybe Arwen wouldn’t make her jump through as many hoops…

Nothing for it, then. She went to find her most annoying sibling. Arwen was reading on her balcony. She looked up at the sound of her sister’s footsteps.

“Tindomiel,” Arwen said with a smile.

Tindomiel made herself not roll her eyes. Be pleasant and maybe you’ll get out of this without too much annoyance, she reminded herself.

“Who’s the mortal child playing in the yard?” Tindomiel asked with no preamble.

Arwen smiled again, as Tindomiel mentally counted ten.

“Oh, you finally noticed Estel?” she replied.

Tindomiel looked at her cautiously. Information given without penalty? This was too good to be true.

“He’s been here a while?” Tindomiel asked.

“I believe he’s been here since before your return,” Arwen replied with a small laugh. “Ada has been fostering him since his father died.”

Tindomiel considered her options, but her sister pre-empted her.

“If you will promise to behave, I will have Erestor introduce you.”

“That’s all I have to do?” Tindomiel demanded.

Arwen looked genuinely puzzled.

“What do you think you should have to do?”

“I don’t know!” Tindomiel exclaimed. “You’re always making me do something, so when all you say is ‘behave’, there must be something else you’re going to tell me to do.”

Arwen shook her head.

“I did not mean to ‘make’ you do anything,” she said. “I thought you would enjoy having new gowns-“

“What about making me help the smiths?”

“You asked how swords were forged!” Arwen protested. “Where else do you expect to learn about such things?”

Tindomiel frowned.

“So you haven’t been trying to be annoying this whole time?” she said cautiously.

Arwen looked so completely flummoxed by that question that Tindomiel couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Trust her sister the princess to be too nice to be annoying.

“Does this mean you are willing to declare a truce?” Arwen asked smoothly.

Tindomiel frowned. It would make Nana and Ada happy if she said yes… and maybe then she’d have a better chance of convincing them that she should get to go visit Lothlorien too.

“Fine, truce.”

Arwen smiled, this time looking slightly smug.

“Come, let us find Erestor. I think you and Estel will be good company for each other.”


	10. Galadriel

Now that they were actually here, Buffy was fidgety. Meeting this grandmother she had no memory of who clearly impressed the hell out of everyone around her was making her a little nervous. Oh, and her grandfather was apparently no pushover either. The gwenyn were on their best behavior, which said a lot, and she was pretty sure it wasn’t because of the snooty warden she’d been tormenting ever since they’d reached the border of Lothlorien.

She felt alone, despite her brothers. While it was not the first time since coming to Middle Earth she had been separated from her friends, this was the time she could have used their moral support the most. But the marchwardens had whisked them off to flets of their own, saying that while their lord and lady would doubtless greet her friends later, it would surely be best if the first meeting was family.

“Be at ease, little one,” Elrohir murmured on her right. “Grandmother is not so fearsome as you think.”

“Who’s afraid?” Buffy shot back.

“You have not stopped dancing in place since Haldir went to inform Grandmother and Grandfather we were here to greet them,” Elladan pointed out from her left.

“Oh, and you two wouldn’t be nervous if this was the Undying Land and we were meeting Ada’s parents?” Buffy hissed.

The silence on either side spoke volumes.

“We had not considered it in that light,” Elladan said softly. “But we trust that they will be as pleased to see us as Nana’s parents will be to see you- especially since you return almost as from the Halls of Mandos.”

And then it was too late to say anything else, because Galadriel and Celeborn entered, and Buffy forgot everything when she looked into her grandmother’s eyes.

“Anariel,” she heard her grandfather say softly, but it was not him she focused on.

“This is not the name she prefers now,” Galadriel said, her eyes never leaving her granddaughter’s.

Buffy felt those eyes read her soul, and instead of the horror she knew her father had felt when he heard of her life in California, she found understanding in the depths of Galadriel's eyes.

“Buffy,” she said softly, opening her arms to wrap her granddaughter in an embrace that was the closest thing to peace Buffy had known since being Called. “You are welcome here.”

_More than welcome. You are loved._


	11. The Choice of the Peredhil

Buffy couldn’t have said how long she was lost in her grandmother’s gaze before she remembered that her brothers and grandfather were also present. She knew that what had passed between herself and Galadriel had not been said out loud, and was intended for her alone.

Galadriel tucked her granddaughter to her side, as if loathe to let go of her even for an instant, as she regarded her grandsons.

“Your journey here was not free from adventure,” she said conversationally.

“No, grandmother,” Elrohir said with a grin. “There are still yrch in the mountains, but that is just as well. I think our small sister would have been- what was her phrase?”

Elladan smirked.

“Bored out of her gourd, I believe it was,” he told his twin. “Fortunately, she was kept too busy showing us how best to dispatch yrch to have time for boredom.”

Celeborn regarded all three of his grandchildren with some consternation.

“Your sister is only just returned to us and you would risk her to hunt yrch?”

“It was no big, really,” Buffy snorted. “Yrch are pretty lame as demons go. No risk. Well, except for my shoes.”

She felt her grandmother’s silent laughter as she glanced sadly at her boots. Elladan had been right- they were a hopeless mess. When she looked up again, she found her grandfather seemed to be doing that mental counting thing Ada did from time to time when they were trying his patience. The twins were trying hard not to smirk and not quite succeeding.

“Besides,” Elrohir pointed out, “Anariel has the same choice as the rest of us- unless she intends to be counted with the Edain, the worst the yrch can do is send her to wreak havoc in Mandos’ halls.”

His expression suggested this would be greatly amusing, although Buffy had no idea what he was talking about. She knew Mandos was one of the Valar, but among the many things she hadn’t paid much attention to was the pantheon of higher beings in Arda. She was just happy to have the local equivalent of Powers not messing with her life.

“What choice?” Buffy asked, confused. “Make with the 'splaining, please?”

“The choice of the half-elven,” Celeborn said heavily, “is granted to each of your father’s children, as it was to him and his brother. You may choose which kindred to be counted among- Eldar or Edain. The Gift of Men is yours to accept or refuse as you will. But we may hope that choice lies many years before you yet.”

The seriousness with which he treated the choice told Buffy that this was something that worried him deeply. Mortals died- really, truly died, not like elves who would reincarnate after a while. When mortals died, unlike elves, they would pass from the circles of Arda to whatever awaited them after death- and the elves were as unclear about what that might be as any mortal. All they knew was that it was a permanent parting, with no hope of seeing their lost friends or kin again in the West.

“No,” Galadriel said, startling the men, “it does not. Buffy’s choice has already been made. She is of the Eldar. She refused the Gift when she was still in that other world of Men.”

Buffy’s head spun. She had no idea how Galadriel had known- she hadn’t told Ada. She hadn’t even told her mother- she’d never wanted to worry her. Xander had revived her and that was the end of it.

“I didn’t know,” she whispered, shocked at the implication- and certain why her parents had not mentioned this choice sooner. Her friends were mortal.

Galadriel’s arm was still about her, and her grandmother’s mind touched hers, feather light, comforting her with more than just words.

“You may not have known,” she said gently, “but you chose.”

“Anariel, you _died_ in that other world?”

She couldn’t have said which of her brothers had asked, the voice was so hoarse with shock. Looking at them, she saw both her brothers’ faces had drained of all color.

“It was only for a minute,” she told them. “Don’t look like that! I was fighting the Master and I drowned, but Xander revived me.”

Elladan flushed, looking guilty.

“And we thought him the least worthy of your companions. We have misjudged him badly.”

Buffy raised an eyebrow. They were going to have a talk later about how her brothers had come to that particular conclusion.

“You must tell your mother,” Celeborn said gently. “And your father. They feared that you, more than any of your brothers or sisters, would choose to number among the Edain.”

Then Galadriel spoke again, in Buffy’s head.

_Your father has foreseen that he will lose one of his daughters to death. After you vanished with your mother, he feared it was you._

Buffy felt her heart breaking.

_And when I returned with mortals as my sworn brothers and sisters, he believed I would yet be lost to him. But if it is not me…_

“Your brothers and sisters’ choices lie yet before them,” Galadriel told her aloud. “You cannot spare them their choice, nor your parents the worry of how they may choose. Do not let your heart be troubled. You must wash and rest after your long journey. But before your brothers show you where you will stay, I greatly desire to meet your companions.”


	12. Riding Lessons

Tindomiel frowned, dubious that this was a good idea. She had come to acknowledge, albeit somewhat grudgingly, that Arwen did usually know what she was talking about. And she insisted it could be done…

“You’re sure it’s possible to ride in skirts?” she asked skeptically.

Arwen smirked.

“Of course. I often ride.”

It went without saying that Arwen only rarely bothered with leggings. She was a full-tilt elven princess, and Tindomiel had to admit, it worked for her. Once she’d gotten over the theory that her oldest sister was being a butt trying to edge Buffy out, she’d realized Arwen also shared what had previously been referred to as the Summers shopping gene. Clearly it was actually a peredhil thing, because Arwen said the boys were the same way, just more about weapons than clothes.

Arwen had been delighted when her baby sister had given up resisting her efforts to give her wardrobe an overhaul. Consequently, Tindomiel was now the best dressed elleth in Imladris, bar none, and nearly all her dresses were tailor made to fit her and no one else. The fancy elven hairdos to go with it were still giving her trouble, but Arwen assured her it would come with practice- Arwen made it look easy because she’d been at it for thousands of years. And it didn’t seem to bother Arwen in the least that her baby sister needed help with her hair on a regular basis.

The only thing that was still annoying about her oldest sister was that Arwen shared all their sibling’s belief that Tindomiel was too young to have weapons. She had refused to have the smiths make anything for her, and while Ada gave in to Tindomiel’s persuading on most things, he agreed with Arwen this time. So did Nana. They insisted she had much to learn before she would be allowed weapons of her own. Tindomiel was biding her time- sooner or later, they’d have to give in.

Arwen’s latest idea was to start teaching her new skills to match the clothes, despite Tindomiel’s protests that she could always change into pants to ride or fight. Her oldest sister had pointed out that one could not always know of a situation in time to change clothing. It was a maddening argument, mostly because Tindomiel had yet to find a suitable comeback for it.  
There was a definite challenge in Arwen’s expression.

“You realize you will not be able to make the journey to Lothlorien to visit Grandmother and Grandfather until you can demonstrate to Ada that you ride well enough to get yourself safely away should we encounter trouble on the road?”

Tindomiel glared. Arwen was deliberately picking on a sore spot. She was the only one who had never been. And here in Arda visits to the grandparents weren’t just for one or two nights - Buffy and their brothers had been gone for the best part of a year now, and were showing no signs of coming home anytime soon.

“Glorfindel taught me how to ride!” she protested.

“He did,” Arwen agreed. “In leggings. And he still feels you should improve before attempting long journeys.”

Tindomiel rolled her eyes. Unlike most Arwen ideas, this was stupid- Buffy could barely ride at all when the gwenyn dragged her off adventuring. And she definitely hadn’t learned how to ride in fancy dresses, because the boys had decided on the visit to Lothlorien before Arwen had been back long enough to have anything new made for her. Their brothers were wonderfully practical and hadn’t bothered trying convince Buffy to start wearing dresses.

“Nana intends to visit her parents soon,” Arwen remarked. “Ada will remain here, but he will hardly let her ride alone. If you were a proficient rider by the time she sets out, we could ride with them...”

That did it. She was not getting left at home again! If everyone else was going to see Lothlorien, Tindomiel was darn well going to do whatever it took to go with them.

She eyed the saddle, then her skirt. This really was not going to go well- she didn’t need Ada’s foresight to predict that she was going to end up tripping and falling at least once. Her only hope was that there wouldn’t be too many elves around to see- or worse, Estel. Stupid mortal boy always managed to be around whenever she did something embarrassing. It was like he had a sixth sense for when she was about to turn into a complete klutz.

“So how do you do this again?”


	13. Celeborn

Buffy eyed the target. Despite visiting her grandparents, her brothers hadn’t allowed her to neglect her training. Archery and swordplay were still part of her daily routine. Archery occupied more time than it had before, however.

Galadriel sometimes watched, but it was Celeborn who had taken over her archery lessons. Much to her delight, he’d sent the gwenyn scampering. Buffy had the distinct impression he’d enjoyed doing it, too- just like he enjoyed that he was the one teaching his granddaughter the proper way with a bow.

“Ease your grip, Anariel,” he said quietly. “And calm yourself. A swordsman may find strength in emotion, but an archer needs clarity, precision.”

He was the only person who called her Anariel. Somehow, it didn’t bother her as much coming from her grandfather. When most people used it, the name sounded like someone else. When Celeborn said it, the name danced on his tongue. He’d also taken the time to explain to her the relation between her name and the name he’d given her grandmother, Alatariel. She could live with having a name related to her grandmother’s. Particularly when it was said in the fond tone her grandfather reserved for her.

Archery had become a time of day when it was just the two of them. It was a soothing time, and she looked forward to it. Celeborn was only elf other than Galadriel who never pushed her to be anything other than what she was. She’d heard the disappointment of some of the galadhrim that she was not more like Arwen. Apparently Lothlorien had been expecting someone more proper and princessy.

She’d cured them of that on the patrol that had dealt with a group of yrch that had come down from the Hithaeglir. Her brothers had cleaned up on wagers that day- they hadn’t bothered to warn Haldir the Snooty or his brothers what their little sister could do.

Her grandfather had taken her archery in hand not long after that. He had been particularly incensed to discover that she preferred the sword or the knife because she lacked skill with a bow. Buffy had found it incredibly difficult to keep the poker face that was expected of the children of Elrond at the sight of her thousands-years-old grandfather as indignant as a teenager at the idea of his granddaughter not knowing her way around a bow.

She eased her grip as instructed and did her best to make herself relax. A soft snort told her grandfather was not impressed.

To her surprise, he slipped a blindfold over her eyes.

“How am I supposed to hit the target when I can’t see it!” she protested.

“You know I am smiling right now without seeing it,” he pointed out. “And you saw where the target was. I have not moved it, nor has it grown legs.”

“So just shoot where I think it is?” Buffy grumbled.

“No, shoot where you know it is,” Celeborn corrected. “You must trust yourself, Anariel. You have hit the target many times. You will hit it this time as well.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, aware that the whole ‘feeling’ thing elves had going would mean Celeborn knew she was doing it. She pictured the target in her mind. She hadn’t moved, and neither had it. She took a deep breath. Calm. Precise. She loosed her arrow.

A solid _thwack!_ told her it had hit something- and pulling the length of cloth off her eyes, she discovered to her immense surprise that it was the target. Dead center, in fact.

“There was a lesson in there somewhere, wasn’t there?” she sighed.

“The lesson was to trust yourself. You do not lack ability, even if your brothers are quick to point out shortcomings. Yet each time you take aim, I see doubt. With a sword in hand, you are confidence incarnate. It should be the same with a bow.”

“It’s hard to be confident when you’ve got twin drill instructors constantly nitpicking,” Buffy muttered.

“Indeed,” Celeborn agreed. “Particularly when they seem not to remember that it took them several hundred years to develop their archery to a level they themselves would not now find fault with.”

Buffy looked up at him, smiling slightly. This was the other good part of having a grandfather- he reminded her that despite their reputations and their own egos, sometimes her brothers were full of it. And when they were around to hear it, he reminded them, too.

“Come, Anariel,” he said, ruffling her hair fondly. “Shall we see if your grandmother has succeeded in recreating this ice cream you are so fond of?”


	14. Reunion in Lorien

Buffy smiled from her perch nestled amidst the trees. She was slowly starting to feel like she fit in here, instead of being some strange hybrid that was neither Edain nor Eldar. She had actually bested her brothers in archery this morning- though they had been at some pains to point out that she had only hit a target, not an actual moving being such as an orc. Buffy had dignified that with the only response it deserved- she stuck her tongue out at them.

She wasn’t sure if it was the archery, or something else entirely, but her grandparents had decided they needed a party. Maybe it had been to offer other elves the chance to sample ice cream, which Galadriel, Tara, and their willing assistants had finally perfected, producing a good dozen flavors. So here they were, enjoying food, drink, singing, dancing, and general merriment. It was the best atmosphere she’d ever experienced.

She was also mulling over the unexpected news that her parents and sisters would soon be joining them in Lothlorien. Elrohir had told her about it yesterday, looking very pleased with himself for being the one who got the news to her first.

She was actually looking forward to the whole family being in one place, even if it wouldn’t last very long. Ada had responsibilities in Imladris, and Galadriel virtually never left Lothlorien- there was a creepy place nearby that she had to watch over, with a Big Bad who had supposedly been defeated long time ago. Buffy could understand that. She also understood more than her brothers suspected about the current ‘peace’.

Celeborn and Galadriel had not seen any point in reticence about the growing shadow in the East and the threat of Dol Guldur, not once they had heard the full story of how she had lived in California. For her part, Buffy had held nothing back from them- she wasn’t entirely sure she could hold anything back from her grandmother even if she wanted to. Galadriel, in her rare unguarded moments, radiated power in a way Buffy had never encountered before.

She wasn’t sure how to describe the feeling of Galadriel’s power, though she had tried to put it into words for the gwenyn. Anti-demon was the best she had been able to come up with to describe that sensation of goodness that was the complete opposite of the things she fought, but that was insufficient, since her brothers’ only reference for what she meant by demon were yrch, and yrch were low grade minions. She’d ended up frustrated, knowing that what they understood was far short of what she meant. Her grandmother was closer to an anti-Glory than an anti-orc, but that would mean nothing to her brothers.

Haldir dropped down to sit next to her. She had forgiven him his snootiness when she first caught sight of Caras Galadhon fully lit and echoing with music. It was as amazing as he thought it was, and she now that she'd seen it herself, she could understand him taking pride in it.

“You are far too serious for a night of feasting and singing such as this,” he told her. “Look, even your friends are making merry.”

She looked, and discovered that Willow and Tara were with a group of ellith who were teaching them one of the more complicated dances. Anya was in conversation with one of the cooks, while Xander was watching intently as another elf sketched the scene.

“You’re right,” she replied. “They’re all having fun.”

It was one of the things she sometimes worried about- that having followed her to Arda, her friends regretted their choice. That no matter how delighted the elves were to show them any crafts they took an interest in, or take them to the places the elves found most beautiful, it would not make up for the harsh fact that they were now set apart by their mortality- and she didn’t know how to confess to them that while she had apparently once had the choice of whether to be mortal or not, that choice had been unknowingly made in the Master’s lair.

“They are. But you are not,” Haldir said, sounding disappointed. “You are sitting here on the hillside alone and quiet.”

“Just thinking,” she said.

“You are very like the Lady,” he said. “But even she is making merry tonight. Why are you are not singing, my lady?”

Buffy shrugged.

“Me and the singing are not really of the good,” she said ruefully. “Ask Tindomiel when she gets here. She’ll tell you.”

Haldir laughed that off.

“Yes, but she is your younger sister. I am sure if you were to ask my own younger brothers, they would tell you I croak like frog, yet still I sing.”

Buffy rolled her eyes.

“Right, cause I’ve heard Orophin and Rumil rag on you so much…”

“It would give the Lady great joy to hear you singing,” Haldir said softly.

Buffy sighed. She knew he was right. Galadriel was always so pleased whenever Buffy learned any of the skills most elves took for granted- or even better, the rare occasions when she remembered something from before California.

It had only happened a few times, unexpected bits and pieces surfacing like a submarine, but when it did, Buffy was relieved, because it meant that all her mother had told her was real. This wasn’t one more crazy trick of the powers, something beautiful and good that might be yanked away from her the second she let herself believe it. This was where she belonged. She knew her family treasured those flashes of memory, too- her brothers had been as enthusiastic about her remembering Caradhras as they had been about her returning to Arda in the first place.

“I can’t even if I want to. I don’t know the words.”

“Not even to this one?” Haldir asked, his tone daring her to admit to not knowing it as he began to sing quietly.

“ _A Elbereth Gilthoniel…_ ”

“ _Silivren penna míriel_ ,” Buffy joined in, surprising even herself.

She did remember- it was a short song, and one even the youngest elflings knew. One of the first they learned, Buffy realized.

“ _O menel aglar elenath! Na-chaered palan-díriel, o galadhremmin ennorath, Fanuilos, le linnathon nef aear, sí nef aearon!_ ”

It wasn’t until the last line that she realized Haldir had stopped once she picked up the tune. Galadhrim all over the square had fallen silent and turned to listen. But the faces Buffy cared most about were at the far end of the square- her grandparents and her brothers.

And the night held one more surprise- it wasn’t just her grandparents and the gwynen beaming at her, Ada and Nana were there, along with Dawn and Arwen.

Dawn smirked, and never one to be outdone, started a new song.

“Snow-white! Snow-white! O Lady clear! O Queen beyond the Western Seas!”

As Buffy walked toward them, she joined in- as did Arwen and their brothers. She heard first Ada, then Nana, and Galadriel and Celeborn’s voices join them.

“O Light to us that wander here, amid the world of woven trees!”

Haldir’s was the next voice she recognized, followed immediately by his brothers. Buffy realized to her surprise that Willow, Tara, Xander and even Anya were singing, too. She wasn’t sure when they’d learned the song- she had a sudden suspicion that Haldir had been very sneaky. Quite possibly her brothers had been in on it, too.

“Gilthoniel! O Elbereth! Clear are thy eyes and bright thy breath!”

By the time she reached her family, it sounded like every elf in Caras Galadhon was singing. Lothlorien rang with song, building to a crescendo as they reached the final line.

“Snow-white! Snow-white! We sing to thee, in a far land beyond the Sea.”


	15. Daughters of Elrond

“So,” Buffy began, leaning back against the headboard of her bed. “You and Arwen?”

Tindomiel snorted.

It was the first chance Buffy had gotten to talk with her, just the two of them, since her sisters had arrived in Lorien with their parents.

“Truce declared,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “You’re slow. Elrohir asked the night of your party.”

They’d slipped back into English for this, although Buffy could speak passable Sindarin. Tindomiel was far better at it- and only answered to Dawn anymore if it was Buffy or the Scoobies. It was almost like someone had hit ‘reset’ in her brain, the way she was absorbing the languages and lore of Middle Earth. Not that Buffy wasn’t absorbing things too- it was just that what she was picking up fastest tended to be more hands on and involve weapons.

“Arwen won, didn’t she,” Buffy snickered knowingly.

Everyone was still in Lothlorien, though she suspected that would not last much longer. While Arwen and Nana were happy to stay, Ada was anxious to be back to Imladris, and Buffy herself was starting to get a nebulous feeling of impending bad that she would once have chalked up to Slayer, but here was taken for granted as a gift some elves had. It had started out faint, but it was growing. She was fairly sure it meant she wouldn’t be allowed to remain either.

“Did not,” Tindomiel grumbled.

Buffy raised an eyebrow, aware she was not yet up to the standards of her brothers in this gesture, but hey, practice makes perfect.

“Ok, fine, she totally won,” Tindomiel sighed. “It’s really not a fair fight when someone has thousands of years advantage on you!”

Buffy couldn’t help the giggle. What little she remembered of Arwen from before California could be summed up as ‘best one at playing innocent’. She almost regretted letting their brothers drag her off to Lorien instead of staying to watch their sisters try to game each other without getting busted by their parents.

“She’s not as bad as I thought,” Tindomiel said. “Just… different, I guess. I was used to you, and the twins aren’t that different.”

Buffy nodded. That was the common consensus of everyone who had met all the children of Elrond and Celebrian. She was the surprise, because for the centuries she and her mother had been missing from Middle Earth, everyone had fallen into the habit of imagining her as a miniature Arwen. That she was more like a tiny blonde version of her brothers had come as a shock to many.

“So you’re not unhappy?” Buffy asked. “You really do like it here?”

Tindomiel gave her a long, searching look.

“Oh, god, you’re freaking out about us, aren’t you?” she demanded. “You really need to learn how to relax. Everybody’s happy here, even Anya! I love Middle Earth. There’s no crazy hellgoddess trying to kill either of us, we have Nana and Ada, Arwen and the gwenyn, we even have the Scoobies here. Sure, I miss Giles and Spike sometimes, but it was their choice to stay behind. We can’t make other people’s choices for them.”

Buffy blinked. Tindomiel had been picking up more than just language while she’d been away.

“I’m not freaking out,” she reassured her sister. “Just… concerned.”

Tindomiel waited patiently- another new trick, one Buffy suspected she’d picked up from Arwen.

“Did you know we’re actually half-elven?” Buffy asked.

“Duh,” Dawn replied. “Well, part-elven, anyway. Nana is edhil, but Ada is peredhil. But he chose to be counted with the Eldar, so we have the life of the Eldar unless we choose otherwise.”

“Have you thought about what that means?” Buffy said carefully.

Tindomiel shrugged.

“Not really. Do I need to? I think we’ll all remain among the Eldar. Ada’s brother chose to be Edain, that’s how we’re kin to Estel, but I think it would be awful to be separated from the rest of your family forever. Why would anyone choose that?”

“Love?” Buffy suggested. “You might fall in love with a Man, like Luthien did.”

Even as little attention as she had paid to the many songs and sagas, she couldn’t miss the tale of Beren and Luthien. It was strange to think that they were her great-great grandparents.

Tindomiel shook her head with a certainty Buffy hadn’t expected.

“Maybe that would be a reason for Arwen or the boys, but even if I fell in love with one of the Edain, what happens to the Key if I die? Would it be released for something else like Glory to use? I mean, think about it. If I die like a mortal, I’m no longer bound to the circles of the world- would that mean the Key isn’t either? And if it isn’t, does that mean Morgoth can get his slimy claws on it? Not happening. Not when I can prevent it.”

Buffy regarded Dawn- no, Tindomiel, she reminded herself- in a new light. Even in the short time since their return to Arda, she had already left behind the helpless young girl she had been.

“Tindomiel? You will remain among the Eldar? Truly?”

Both Buffy and Dawn turned to find Arwen had climbed up to their talan so quietly they hadn’t noticed. Her eyes were shining, and deep within them, Buffy could see the relief.

“Of course,” Tindomiel replied, slipping easily back into Sindarin. “Wait- since when do you speak English?”

Arwen blushed.

“I did not mean to eavesdrop. I asked your friend Tara to teach me when I first came home, and I have been practicing with her ever since we arrived in Lothlorien. It is not the same as the Common Tongue, and I did not like to think there might be things one of you wanted to say to me that I would not understand. I do not think I speak very well, but I understand a good deal. Did I understand right? You will not go with the Edain?”

Buffy glanced at her younger sister before nodding.

“Neither of us will. Dawn could still change her mind, I guess, but my choice is already made and I don’t think the Valar do backsies.”

Tindomiel snickered at the confused look on Arwen’s face before she took pity and explained what ‘backsies’ meant. She was pleased to note Buffy was paying attention as well, filing the Sindarin words away for later.

“But how could you know-“ Arwen stopped suddenly, her eyes widening.

She did not pale as the boys had, but suddenly Buffy found herself pulled to her feet in a hug so tight she dimly understood why people had always been yelping at her to mind the Slayer strength.

In that moment, heart to heart with her sister, Buffy abruptly learned much that would have been difficult to put into words. She knew that elflings were rare east of the sea, every one a precious treasure. Arwen had been so proud to be an older sister, even for that brief time before the baby had disappeared with their naneth. She knew that Ada, although he had put on a brave face, had privately feared the worst. That it had terrified Arwen that she might never see her adored baby sister again. And then a small blonde stranger had returned with Nana, accompanied by mortals…

The hug was only broken when Tindomiel started to giggle, although even then, Arwen did not let go.

“It is not funny!” Arwen scolded, but she smiled as she said it. “Do Ada and Nana know? Adar worries…”

“Um, not exactly,” Buffy mumbled. “It didn’t really seem like the sort of conversation to have. ‘Hey, Ada, it's good to be home, did I mention I died while I was away?’”

“Buffy never really told Nana,” Tindomiel said with some asperity. “I mean, ok, she knows there’s another Slayer, so she must have worked out that something happened, but never in any detail.”

Buffy shrugged.

“I didn’t want her to worry. It’s done and over with, and there’s nothing she could do to change it. Besides, the way you and the boys reacted, Ada might have a heart attack at the idea I was technically dead for a few minutes.”

Arwen sank down in front of the bed her sisters had been sitting on earlier, leaning against it, pulling Buffy down with her. As if this was something they did all the time, Buffy and Tindomiel snuggled in on either side of her. Tindomiel hauled a blanket down from the bed, and Arwen arranged it over the three of them.

“I doubt Ada would have a heart attack. Does this being dead for a few minutes have something to do with why they boys are suddenly so much more attentive to Xander?”

Tindomiel nodded.

“He’s the one who revived her.”

Arwen sighed.

“We owe him much. But as to not worrying, you are worried. I feel it. If it is not telling Ada and Nana that worries you…” she paused, considering. “It is your friends.”

“That whole not quite telepathy thing is cheating,” Buffy mumbled.

“You’re being silly,” Tindomiel declared from Arwen’s other side.

“How is it silly?” Buffy protested. “I brought them here, to a place where everyone else is immortal, and now I am too. They’re going to grow old and die and we’re going to stay just as we are.”

“I think Tindomiel still has some growing to do before the ‘just as we are’ applies to her,” Arwen mused, playing with the end of one her youngest sister’s braids. “Were it not for Adar’s explanation of what happened to you in that California, I would say you did too, Anariel.”

Buffy stuck out her tongue.

“Distraction doesn’t work.”

“Yes, but Buffy, they knew that when they chose to come here,” Tindomiel pointed out. “They decided to come anyway. They thought it was worth it to spend what time they could with you instead of being parted forever immediately.”

“Yes, but knowing I could have chosen differently-“

“It is as you said before, Anariel,” Arwen interrupted gently. “It is done and over with. I think you are right about ‘backsies’. Having refused the Gift once, you will not be offered it a second time. All you can do now is make the most of the time that is given them.”

Buffy said nothing, but she did not move from the safe harbor at her sister’s side. She would never say so out loud, but she suspected that sharing thing went both ways, so Arwen would know that Buffy felt sometimes it was good not to be the big sister anymore.

All three daughters of Elrond were still curled together several hours later when Haldir arrived to summon them to their grandmother’s council chamber.


	16. Into The Woods

Elrohir regarded his smaller sister in some consternation. He was beginning to understand her complaint about her footwear. It was becoming bothersome. Even now that she was more proficient with a bow, she still preferred the knife or the sword. That had the drawback of allowing her enemies to befoul her shoes. She had already ruined two pairs, and while they were close, they were not yet at Thranduil’s gates.

Before they had been sent on this trip, their grandparents had seen to arming Anariel properly. Twin knives and a sword had been made to her measure, balanced as she preferred them, shaped to her hands. The bow she still tended to use only when prompted to do so, though with great accuracy when she did, had also been made for her- as Haldir had remarked, it was that or continue to use an elfling’s practice bow. Anariel’s weapons were now extensions of her own arms, and it had been a joy to watch her wield them the first time they encountered yrch.

He and his brother were thankful that Anariel was at last beginning to answer consistently to her own name. The mannish name did not bother them precisely, but they both agreed it was no proper name. Tindomiel had tried to explain why it was so rich in humor- in the world of men they had left, the name Buffy had once been a pet name for upper class women, now thought to signify a woman quite silly and helpless- but Elrohir saw no beauty in it.

The light of the sun was beautiful. The same light shone in both his sister’s hair and in her fëa. No matter what the men in that other world might have tried to tell her, the spirit within her was not touched by darkness. Like all light, it drove darkness away. It might dim, but only to blaze out again the brighter. Much like his tiny sister, now cleaning her knife from her latest kill.

“So these spider demons are all over in this forest?” Anariel asked, wrinkling her nose as she cleaning the gore from her weapon.

“Not quite all over, little one,” Elladan replied. “But close enough that it is unwise to venture into the Greenwood unaccompanied. Too many of them can overwhelm even seasoned warriors if they fight alone.”

“Good thing I brought two seasoned warriors with me, then,” Anariel replied, a slight edge to her voice.

His sister was not yet entirely over her anger at being excluded from the march on Dol Guldur.

When Galadriel had summoned her daughter, son-in-law, and their children to her council, it had been clear that some larger plan was afoot. Elladan and Elrohir had been unsuprised when Celeborn announced that the forces of Lorien would soon march against the Necromancer’s stronghold.

“Too long has he lingered on the edge of our domain unchallenged,” Galadriel declared. “Some among the Wise have been overcautious, lulling us into inaction. I fear our complaisance may cost us dearly. An enemy who might have been cast out without great loss has been given time to plan and entrench himself.”

“It is a fight that may not be delayed much longer without grave threat to all free people east of the sea,” Celeborn said sadly. “But with battle fast upon us, we cannot allow all you children to remain here. If it should go ill with the assault-“

“That does not bear thinking on,” Elrohir had interrupted. “We will prevail.”

Elladan nodded.

“We must.”

“Indeed,” Celeborn agreed. “You will march with our army and see that we do.”

Tindomiel and Arwen had been pleased enough with the roles they were to play- the one returning home with her parents to continue her education, the other resuming her interrupted visit to Lothlorien as though naught was amiss. It was Anariel who had protested vehemently that she should not be sent back to Imladris, but allowed to march with the Galadhrim against the Enemy.

“It is hard that she should be required to stay behind while her brothers go to war,” Celebrían pointed out. “Especially when she has already fought enemies as great.”

Elrohir had seen that it cost his mother to say this, but she knew her daughter well.

Their mother, despite her obvious concern and worry for her, treated Anariel more like an elf who had reached her majority than the elfling most others considered her to be. Even though more time had passed in Imladris than in the mannish world, to the elven way of thinking, it was time experienced that counted, and by that reckoning, Anariel would still be deemed a youngling for a good many years.

But Celebrían had explained that in the mannish world they had lived in, men counted time differently, more like the horse lords or those Edain not of Numenorean stock. By the laws of that world, his sister had been considered adult. A young adult, true, but no longer a child. That experience could not be undone. She should therefore be reckoned at her elapsed age in Arda. Elrond had somewhat reluctantly agreed. Imladris had accustomed itself to thinking of her as an elleth grown, despite her size. Many Galadhrim still had difficulty with the idea.

“Anariel, you are a warrior, it is true,” Galadriel told her. “It is not a path I would have chosen for you, but it did not fall to me to choose. You have already met an enemy to equal the one who hides in the shadows of Dol Guldur, and you were not defeated. Yet you are not accustomed to fight as part of an army. I foresee a day when the Enemy will fear you in the field, but it is not this day, nor many yet to come.”

Elrohir had noted the shadow in his father’s eyes at that, and it saddened him. Elrond still feared for his daughters. One of them would be lost to mortal death, and despite Galadriel’s certainty that Buffy was already irrevocably of the Eldar, he feared for her most of all.

“But Celebrían has the right of it,” Celeborn said unexpectedly. “It is hard for Anariel to be left behind, and watch her brothers go where she may not. So perhaps the gwynyn ought not to march either.”

That had drawn a slight smile from Anariel, as it had been Elrohir and Elladan’s turn to protest.

“This is not the last battle, nor even the War,” their father said sternly. “The only thing you lose is the possibility of injury. If Anariel may not march, neither shall you.”

So it was that they had been sent with their sister to visit the Greenwood. The king of the wood elves had heard of the return of Celebrían and her daughters, and was by now no doubt as curious to see Anariel as any other elf in Middle Earth. Anariel had been enchanted at the thought of seeing the Woodland Realm, especially after Arwen spent an evening telling her tales, not only of Thranduil’s halls, but also of Menegroth.

“So,” Anariel said, bringing him back to the present. “Are we likely to see many more of those things before we get there?”

Elrohir shrugged, unsure if she had finally tired of the evil creatures, or was hoping for more.

“If we had kept to the road as Father and Grandmother intended, we probably would not have seen any,” he pointed out.

Elladan rolled his eyes at his siblings.

“Are you going to quarrel again like the elflings you both claim not to be?” he asked pointedly. “It is true we should have seen neither yrch nor children of Ungoliant had we kept to the path. The journey would also have been many miles longer, as the path was not made for travel from Lorien.”

Anariel looked puzzled by that.

“Why isn’t it made for travel from Lorien? Don’t the Galadhrim visit the elves of the Greenwood?”

“They do, little warrior,” Elladan told her. “But why would elves ever expect to need such a path? We walk among the trees easily enough, and until the Shadow fell upon the forest, there was no cause to worry when we did.”

"Men are calling it Mirkwood now," Elrohir added.

Anariel frowned, but said nothing, as she often did when the Shadow was mentioned. She found the idea that the Enemy had been allowed not just one or two years, but hundreds to gather power and lay his plans incomprehensible. Elrohir did not fully understand her tales of the mannish world she had defended before her return, but he knew she believed that allowing a canny foe time to think only served to make him more dangerous.

They had been traveling for some days now, having departed Lorien before the host of the Galadhrim marched. Rather than cross the Anduin and skirt the southern end of Mirkwood so close to Dol Guldur, they had taken a northwards route across the plains below the Hithaeglir, not crossing the river until they reached the Gladden Fields.

Even after crossing the great river, they kept out of the forest, following edge of the woods until they reached the Dwarf-road. It was then that Anariel had persuaded her brothers that they should strike into the forest rather than follow the road through to the Celduin side. It did save many miles from the journey- which had been how Anariel had convinced them- but it meant edging around the mountains, and following the Morduin until they reached the path maintained by Thranduil’s folk.

Had it been Arwen or Tindomiel travelling with them, Elrohir and his brother would never have agreed. But they had known perfectly well that for Anariel, the chance to slay some of Ungoliant’s get would be looked on as a treat. It also gave them a chance to have her practice fighting in a group, which she would need if she truly intended to someday march with an elven host against the Enemy as Galadriel thought she might.

The lessons were proceeding well. Anariel had at first resisted obeying when they would give her orders, particularly orders she disagreed with, such as ‘hold’ ‘do not charge’ or ‘fall back’. It was only after a rather fierce argument that Elrohir had made her see that if she ever hoped to command, or even march with an elven host, she needed to first prove that she could follow.

Elladan had also pointed out that if she could not follow such commands now, when they mattered little, how would she fare in battle, when they might mean the difference between victory and defeat? True, part of the reason they gave the commands now was to see if she would obey, but there would come a time when the reasons were pressing, when such commands would need to be carried out instantly and without question.

Since that day, they worked much better together. Rather than relying on the rapport they had achieved on the journey to Lorien, they were showing their sister how to function as an elven warrior. Now, however, drawing close to the elves' road, there was a more important lesson. A brotherly duty, really. What sort of brothers would they be if they didn't also teach her about keeping out of trouble?

“Anariel,” Elrohir began carefully, “we will soon reach the road, and I doubt it will be long after that before King Thranduil sends a party to greet us.”

“Mmm-kay,” Anariel said. “And?”

“The elves we meet will not be accustomed to you as we are. Please keep your temper.”

Anariel rolled her eyes.

“I’m not going to throw a temper tantrum in front of a bunch of elves I’ve never met before. Kinda undermines the whole ‘not an elfling’ argument I keep having to make.”

Elladan raised a knowing eyebrow.

“Perhaps you have forgotten your introduction to Haldir?” he said mildly.

Anariel snorted.

“Please. That wasn’t temper. That was me showing him I could too take care of orcs. No matter how ‘delicate’ I  
look.”

“The yrch would certainly have described it as temper,” Elladan replied, though Elrohir could see his brother was stifling laughter at the memory. “And while the Galadhrim were impressed, wood elves tend to be less restrained and quicker to judge. They have had to be, with these creatures on their very doorstep. They are also fiercely protective of elflings, as there are so few in these dark times.”

“I promise I’ll behave,” Anariel sighed. “I’ll even remember they mean well if they get aggravating.”

“A great relief, little one.” Frowning at her footwear, he added, “I am sure I need not remind you that no matter how badly the spiders have fouled your boots, you are not to touch the Morduin.”

“Yeah, yeah, cursed river, one drop equals sleeping beauty minus the prince to wake me up. Come on, ‘Dan, I may be younger, but I’m not a complete idiot.”

Both her brothers smiled, having heard the same line from Tindomiel to Anariel.

\---

The next morning dawned as bright as any morning could in Mirkwood, and much to Anariel’s delight, they encountered another pack of spiders just before they reached the path.

“Orders or contest?” Anariel demanded, her eyes sparkling.

Elrohir exchanged a glance with his twin, who grinned.

“Contest!” they replied as one.

At that, the children of Elrond swung into action, each vying to kill the most spiders. As they were always aware of where their siblings were, there was little danger of injuring each other. It was a knot of perhaps a dozen spiders, but with three of them, it was as Anariel would say ‘no big’.

Anariel, used to fighting alone, had an advantage in her unusually fluid style of engaging her opponents. Rather than wait patiently for one golden opportunity as most elves did, she would happily seize numerous lesser openings, injuring if she could not kill- although that occasionally handed a kill to her brothers, if they were in a better position to finish the foul creatures.

Even so, the end of the fight saw each twin with 4 kills to their credit, and Anariel gleeful at her 5- and a ruined tunic to match her shoes, as her last opponent had been dispatched by slitting the creature’s underside from end to end as she slid underneath it.

“How long until we reach the river it’s ok for me to touch?” she asked plaintively, once she’d gotten over the glow of victory. “I need a bath.”

“Indeed, little one,” Elrohir agreed. “I shudder to think what Thranduil’s people would say if they saw you like this.”

“Shudder quick,” Anariel said, frowning, “cause I think we’re about to find out. I’m pretty sure those are wood elves.”

Elrohir cursed softly as he looked up. She was right, and what was worse, he saw the party was headed by Legolas, not by a lesser officer.

“I didn’t catch that word,” Anariel said brightly, aware it was not one their mother would approve of.

“Not now, little sister,” Elladan murmured.

“Mae govannen, sons of Elrond!” Legolas called, smiling. “Perhaps you had forgotten it is best to keep to the path in these woods?”

As Legolas caught sight of Anariel, the smile dropped from his face. Elrohir considered stepping in front of his sister to shield her from the storm he knew was coming, but then decided it would only make things worse- he’d have elves yelling at him from both sides.

“Have you taken leave of your senses?” Legolas hissed. “It’s bad enough that the two of you choose the most dangerous route through the woods to indulge your love of the hunt- which my father had hoped would have lessened with your mother’s return- but to bring an elfling with you when you do?”

The entire party of wood elves was looking grim as they took in Anariel’s state. Elrohir fought a rather elfling-like urge to justify himself. Fortunately, his sister reacted faster than he did.

“Now I get why I’m supposed to not lose my temper,” the ‘elfling’ in question remarked cheerfully. “Hi, I’m Buffy-“

“Anariel!” both her brothers corrected in the same breath.

“-and I’m not sure why you think you get to yell at my brothers, cause you look about five minutes older than them,” Anariel continued, blithely ignoring what she took as her brothers’ attempt to quiet her.

“Fifty years, not five minutes,” Elrohir said quietly, but not so quietly that every elf facing them couldn’t hear. He fought the urge to smirk, because his sister responded just as he’d hoped she would.

“Pfft. Fifty years, five minutes. Isn’t that pretty much the same difference?”

“It is very close. But it does make him somewhat older than you, little one,” Elladan pointed out brightly. “So while it might not be appropriate for him to yell at us...”

Anariel rolled her eyes.

“Sore loser.”

Legolas now had an irritated look on his face that was nearly identical to his father’s when the sons of Elrond had tried his patience. He pinned Elladan with a stern look, no doubt hoping he would be reasonable.

“What possessed the two of you to allow an elfling to fight spiders? My father might follow through on that threat he makes at least once each time you visit and actually lock you up for such madness!”

“Still standing right here,” Anariel said, irritation creeping into her tone. Elrohir did smile at that. Aside from her dislike of being treated as an elfling, she disapproved of anyone threatening her family. The wood elves were not the only protective ones!

“Also the winner of this morning’s ‘children of Elrond versus demon spiders’ throwdown,” Anariel continued, “so not really seeing the problem.”

To her brothers, she added, “See? I’m totally not losing my temper even though he keeps saying the ‘e’ word!”

Legolas’ upraised eyebrow asked the obvious question.

“Elfling,” Elrohir told him with a smirk. “You keep calling her elfling. Our little sister feels it is somewhat insulting to still be called an elfling at just over three yeni.”

Legolas blinked. Elrohir could see him look over Anariel again, this time lingering longer on the facial expression. He knew his sister was glaring at the Prince of the Woodland Realm, annoyance all over her face.

“But she is-“

“You should not finish that sentence, Greenleaf,” Elladan advised. “You will surely make the situation worse.”

Legolas sighed, and then gestured for the other wood elves in his party to bring water.

“You had better wash,” he said. “If my father sees you like this, there will be a good deal more yelling. And he is old enough to still consider three yeni an elfling, particularly when the elf in question is not yet at their full stature.”

Elrohir smiled gratefully as he accepted a water skin from one of Legolas’ guards. From his words, the prince of the Woodland Realm did not intend to tell his father the full tale of how he had met them.

Glaring at the twins, Legolas added, “In fact, he might even apply the dreaded e word to you two.”

Anariel broke into a sunny smile at that. Perversely, she didn’t find ‘elfling’ irritating if it was also being applied to her older siblings.

“That’s fair,” she said brightly. “So, big brothers, you going to do introductions?”

“Anariel, this is Legolas Greenleaf, son of King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm, prince of the Greenwood,” Elladan said, purposely introducing their old friend with the title he usually shunned, preferring to be simply Legolas.

Elladan’s wicked smirk wasn’t lost on his twin. Anariel would have no end of fun discombobulating the son of Thranduil, particularly since she wouldn’t even have to try. The elves of the Greenwood were less formal than the Galadhrim, but even so, their sister’s unique ways were sure to turn heads.

“Legolas,” Elrohir said, taking the second part of the introduction, “our younger sister Anariel, long thought lost, but recently returned with our mother to Arda. The full tale will not doubt be told in your halls, but you should know our youngest sister Tindomiel- who is an elfling, by their reckoning as well as ours- is returning with our parents to Imladris.”

For his part, Legolas was sneaking curious glances at Anariel as she scrubbed vigorously at her face and hands with the cloths and water the wood elves had handed her. One of Legolas’ company, another elleth, was speaking to her, sharing her knowledge on the best way to clean up after dealing with spiders.

“My lady Anariel, perhaps you might change into something a little less-“ Legolas fumbled for the right word.

“Spidery?” Anariel suggested with a grin. “Definitely. We were planning on changing before we got back to civilization anyway.”

She frowned as she glanced toward their travel packs, dropped in the hollow of a tree to protect them from arachnid assault.

“Els, do I have any shoes left the spiders and the orcs haven’t ruined yet?”


	17. In Thranduil's Halls

Buffy grinned to herself. She might not have mentioned it to the Els just yet, but she was over not getting to go kick Big Bad ass at Dol Goldur. The halls of the Wood Elves might not be as fancy as Arwen’s Menegroth, but they were pretty nifty. She hadn’t expected caves to be so pretty. Or so comfortable.

Which was not to say she wanted to make it a permanent thing- if she had to choose, she’d still take Imladris or Lothlorien over Thranduil’s halls any day. In fact, she was starting to miss Imladris. She was sure Dawn- no, Tindomiel- was getting into all manner of trouble, particularly since she wasn’t the only underage one there. Buffy was a little put out she hadn’t gotten to meet Estel, but if he made her sister’s life less boring, he was of the good in her book.

What wasn’t of the good was the sensation she had that she was being followed through some of the lesser used corridors. The feeling was starting to bother her, because it had a touch of malice to it that she didn’t like. So she focused on moving quietly. As it turned out, Slayer hearing was a touch more sensitive than elvish hearing- or maybe it was the odd combination of Slayer + elf which was unique to her.

She heard what other elves wouldn’t- which had made hunting trips interesting the first few times she had accompanied Thranduil or Legolas into the forest. Right now she could hear the sound of _very_ quiet footsteps echoing hers. She took a few random turns, confident by now in her ability to find her way around, and then, when she was positive she was being followed, stopped so abruptly that her invisible tail nearly ran into her.

She grabbed, and was somewhat surprised when her first try came up empty-handed. Oh well, it wasn’t the first time her opponent was shorter than she’d expected. She adjusted downward, gauging her next move by the shocked intake of breath that was perfectly audible, and this time she struck gold. Or struck something, anyway.

“Oh, I say!” someone squealed.

For a split second, Buffy was startled by the feeling of pure and unadulterated evil that she had only previously known when face to face with Glory. Then the feeling vanished, replaced entirely by something that was nothing more or less than a normal- albeit very short- person who appeared out of thin air, struggling in her grip.

She wasn’t entirely sure what it was she was holding, as he was child-sized, but clearly an adult male of his kind, blinking at her in surprise. She caught the motion of him pocketing something- presumably whatever had let it pull the invisibility trick- and wondered if that was also the source of the horrible evil.

“Bilbo Baggins of the Shire at your service,” the little man stammered. “I promise I mean you no harm, my lady.”

Buffy stifled a giggle. She was fairly sure Bilbo Baggins wouldn’t have been able to do her harm even if he meant to. Then again, she had been underestimated many times herself…

“Anariel, daughter of Elrond,” she replied, hoping she was getting the manners right. Up until now, her brothers had always been around for introductions to keep her from accidentally straying into rude. “What exactly are you, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire?”

She set him carefully on his feet, and then backed up a few steps, making it clear by her stance and expression that he had nowhere to run.

“I am a hobbit, lady Anariel,” Bilbo Baggins replied. “I did not know Lord Elrond had daughters. I am very sorry we were not introduced at Rivendell.”

“You were at Rivendell?” Buffy asked curiously. Neither Dawn nor Arwen had mentioned anything about hobbits!

“Yes, some months ago,” Bilbo said, sounding sad not to be there still. “The dwarves I am travelling with and I enjoyed your father’s hospitality for several nights.”

“Dwarves? Ohhhh,” Buffy said, the light bulb abruptly going on.

She’d been present for part of Thorin Oakenshield’s interview with Thranduil. While she privately agreed with the dwarf that the wood elves were being a bit harsh locking the dwarves up for basically being lost in the woods, she could also see Thranduil’s point that Thorin had been rude and insulting. And she was pretty sure she herself was the only elf not bothered that the dwarves had drawn the spiders in to break up more than one feast in the forest. Even her brothers had been annoyed after the first time.

“You have met my companions, then?” Bilbo asked wryly.

“Yep. Know where they’re all locked up,” Buffy replied. “What’s your deal?”

Bilbo sighed.

“Well, as I’m the only one not locked up- yet, that is-“

Buffy shrugged.

“I’m not going to rat you out,” she assured him. “So unless you were planning on making yourself known to other elves-“

Bilbo shook his head, and launched into a brief telling of how it was that he, a respectable hobbit of good family from the Shire, came to be in Mirkwood Forest with thirteen dwarves he was not quite in charge of. Buffy got the feeling that a few interesting details were being left out- in particular the how exactly he got away from the goblins in the Hithaeglir.

“So I’m trying to work out a way to get my friends out,” he finished.

Buffy frowned.

“Aren’t you putting the cart in front of the horse?” she asked.

“How do you mean?” Bilbo said, his little brow furrowing.

“Well, getting them out of their cells is no big, since I’m guessing pickpocketing is pretty easy for the invisible,” Buffy said, grinning as Bilbo flushed. “But once you’re out, then what?”

“We escape and continue on to Laketown,” Bilbo said.

“Mmm,” Buffy nodded. “You might want to work on the nitty-gritty of that plan. I mean, not to throw stones or anything, but once you get out of the gates, you’re still in the forest. And your dwarves don’t seem to have been doing too well out there.”

Seeing Bilbo about to argue, she snorted.

“Don’t even try to say you had it under control. I’m a fighter and I wouldn’t say I could control the spiders. Being invisible’s nice, but there’s only one of you and a butt-ton of them.”

“A button?” Bilbo asked in confusion, glancing down at a waistcoat that had clearly seen better days.

Buffy sighed. Not for the first time, she wondered how much longer it would be before the Els judged they had visited long enough with the wood elves. Messing with Legolas was fun, but she wanted to get back to the Scoobies. She missed being around people who understood her.

“Lots,” she clarified. “Way, way more than one.”

“Oh,” Bilbo said, looking crestfallen. “Yes, I hadn’t thought on that.”

Buffy nodded.

“I could tell. You might also want to start thinking about the ‘how to deal with the dragon’ part, because I bet you all the gold in that mountain your dwarves are going to leave that entirely up to you.”

Now it was Bilbo’s turn to nod, ruefully, as he acknowledged that she was likely right. Buffy felt the urge to clap the poor little guy on the back and tell him things would probably work out in the end- they usually did. But truthfully, even she thought that sending someone three feet tall to deal with a dragon was asking a bit much.

“Well, let me know when you have a plan,” she said, making to retrace her steps toward more populated areas of the caves.

She grinned as Bilbo’s little eyebrows shot up.

“It occurs to me that once you have a workable plan, a distraction might help with the getting away part,” she explained. “Trust me, when it comes to distraction, I’m your girl… uh, elf.”

Bilbo smiled.

“I will think on it as you say, Lady Anariel.”

Buffy was pleased to note that he didn’t need her to explain that he should come find her once he had his plan. Even if he wasn’t invisible, he moved quietly enough to escape most wood elves’ notice. But that made her remember the feeling that had accompanied the invisibility.

As he turned to go, Buffy couldn’t help herself.

“Hey, Bilbo?”

When he paused, she said it in a rush, before she could change her mind.

“You should save the disappearing act for when it’s really important. Magic always has a price, and I suspect the trick you’re using has a high one.”

She moved back up the corridor before Bilbo Baggins could reply. She wasn’t sure why she’d said it, except that something about the hobbit reminded her of Xander when she first met him- in a little over his head, but determined to help his friends all the same.


	18. Preparing To March

Buffy remained determinedly in place, not shifting from foot to foot, as impassive as she’d seen the twins during a similar- thought somewhat less angry- dressing down from the King of the Woodland Realm. Her brothers were a steady, buoying presence at her back, and so far, staying out of it like she’d asked.

The children of Elrond had held a hurried strategy session when the summons to appear before Thranduil had been brought by a disapproving Galion. To be fair, the steward had good reason to be irritated with her. It would take him years to live down the ribbing at not being able to hold his wine, and he wasn’t about to compound his embarrassment by admitting that Elrond’s daughter- who despite being ruled an adult, was still looked on by most as a mere child- had drugged his cup without him noticing.

They had known what it would be about- Buffy’s role in the dwarves’ escape- even without Galion telling them. The couriers who had returned from Laketown had told a most interesting tale of Master Bilbo Baggins the halfling, who claimed that it was by following a beautiful elf-maiden that he had found the means to escape the elf-king’s halls.

She totally got why Bilbo said it- the elves in question had tried to protest the dwarves were their king’s prisoners, and she was guessing that would be pretty obnoxious to Bilbo and his friends, so wanting to gloat a little was understandable- but she couldn’t help wishing he’d had the sense to leave her out of it. To those who didn’t know the maiden and halls in question, it probably sounded like she’d led him to the wine cellar by chance all unaware. To Thranduil and Galion, it was clear that there had been mischief on her part.

The only puzzle had been why Thranduil was bringing it up a second time. He’d already scolded her once.

“You guys can’t jump in,” Buffy told Elrohir and Elladan. “If you do, that just makes me look like an elfling in need of help. I’m a big elleth, I got myself into trouble, I can get myself out.”

Her brother’s matching raised eyebrows doubted that, but since their well-intentioned defense of her behavior hadn’t helped in her last telling-off, they held their peace.

“You were aware that there was an intruder wandering these halls, Anariel. He was here for weeks- yet you said nothing,” Thranduil said angrily.

Buffy rolled her eyes. They’d been through this before.

“Yeah, you could call Bilbo an intruder if you want,” she fired back. “But he’s about three feet tall, you seriously think he’s going to take over the place? I’d have said something if he had been a threat! But all he wanted to do was free his friends.”

She knew she’d walked right into whatever trap the king had laid for her as soon as she said it. She fought the urge to curse- even if Thranduil wouldn’t understand the words Spike had taught her, he’d certainly pick up on the intent.

“He did. Would you like to know what has become of your Halfling and his friends since you helped free them?” Thranduil asked sternly.

Buffy was fairly sure from his attitude that she didn’t want to know, but she was stuck for it.

“They reached Laketown, where the men of the lake were foolish enough to resupply the dwarves. They pressed on to Erebor, where they must have known some secret way into the halls of Thrain, for they did not make for the Gate. They succeeded in waking the dragon- he was seen firing the mountain several nights in a row.”

“Guess that ‘deal with the dragon’ plan still had some kinks in it,” Buffy muttered.

Thranduil’s sharp ears caught her comment.

“So it would seem. No one has seen or heard anything of the dwarves or their Halfling since they entered the mountain. They are almost certainly dead. But that is not the worst of it. Roused by the intrusion, Smaug descended on Laketown in a fury.”

Buffy felt the blood draining from her face. Laketown, she knew, was composed largely of wooden buildings, built on stilts in Long Lake. The water offered some protection against the dragon, but she couldn’t imagine it would be enough.

“Laketown was destroyed?” she asked, hoping her voice remained even.

“Completely,” Thranduil confirmed. “Though they were lucky- a man of the town called Bard, of the line of Girion of Dale, killed the dragon. With the dragon dead, the largest part of the Lakemen survived.”

Buffy breathed easier at that. She knew Laketown was nowhere near as big as the cities she had known in California, but it was large by the standards of this region, so to have its population mostly if not entirely wiped out would have been a disaster.

“My scouts report the survivors are even now huddled on the shores of the Lake, facing hunger and cold. We march to their aid at first light.”

Thranduil paused.

“As you had a hand in this, Anariel, I think it fitting that you march with us. You will see with your own eyes the consequences of your thoughtless actions.”

That provoked her brothers to finally intervene.

“The fate of Laketown was not her doing!” Elladan protested indignantly. “Or do you claim she should have foreseen such an end?”

“We were sent to you to keep our small sister from attempting to march with an elven host,” Elrohir pointed out coldly, sounding so much like Adar when he was displeased that Buffy glanced behind her to make sure it was her brother speaking and not their father.

“Lorien marched to battle,” Thranduil replied. “Ours is an errand of mercy- to bring supplies desperately needed by the men of the Lake if they are to survive the coming winter. Moreover, our presence will deter those who would move against them in their misfortune. Any who might find the Lake-men in their wretchedness a tempting target will think twice with an army of wood-elves at their side.”

“If Anariel marches, so do we,” Elladan said flatly, in a tone that brooked no contradiction. “Our parents and grandparents charged us with her safety.”

“As to her safety,” Thranduil retorted, “what harm do you think likely to befall her under my protection, surrounded by the best warriors in my realm? But as you will. Make ready your packs and armor.”

“Armor?” Buffy asked, suddenly worried. “I thought you said we weren’t marching to battle.”

For the first time, Thranduil looked indulgent as he answered.

“You are still young, Anariel. You will discover that being prepared tends to prevent trouble- and even battle- from happening.”

“I don’t have armor,” Buffy pointed out, not adding that it was unlikely they had a spare set sitting around that would fit her, tiny as she was by elven standards.

“Galion informed the armory to begin preparing armor to fit you as soon as your role in the dwarves’ escape became clear,” Thranduil replied.

“You knew that quick that we’d be doing this?” Buffy demanded.

“Knew that Laketown would be destroyed? No.” Thranduil shook his head. “But I did know that your halfling and his friends would not come to any good end provoking a dragon.”


	19. Aftermath

_My heart is broken by the terrible loss I have sustained in my old friends and companions and my poor soldiers. Believe me, nothing except a battle lost can be half so melancholy as a battle won. -Wellington_

Safely shielded from strangers’ eyes by the rocks at her back, Buffy wept.

The battlefield beneath the Mountain was still littered with the dead, men and elves and dwarves alike lying amid the filth of yrch and warg carcasses. It was much, much worse than anything she’d seen before. People dying in ones or twos back in Sunnydale, or even injured in dozens, paled in comparison. Thousands had died this day.

She supposed she could have crept into her brothers’ tent to indulge in tears- the twins would certainly not think less of her for it, they seemed fairly shocked themselves by the carnage. But she felt like her sadness would only add to theirs right now, and being the elder siblings, they would feel obliged to try to comfort her. That wasn’t what she wanted, so she had left them to seek their own balance, together or separately as they chose.

Elrohir and Elladan’s training on the journey to the Woodland Realm had paid off- it was only their word that their younger sister could conduct herself appropriately in an elven host that had swayed Thranduil, who had meant to leave her in Legolas’ keeping when the wood elves marched to Erebor.

“You were sent here to keep you safe,” Thranduil had said, pinning all three Elrondionath with a stern glare. “You are young, and I have no word from your parents permitting me to take you into what may yet prove to be war. There is no shame in remaining here- my own son remains, for I would not leave my people unprotected.”

Buffy had known that any outburst from her would only work against her, so she had for once stayed silent and let her brothers plead her case.

“It is not right that Anariel should be left here when we march,” Elrohir had declared. “Grandmother and Grandfather thought it best that we three remain together.”

“Grandmother said a day would come when she would strike against the Enemy,” Elladan added. “If that is her fate, would it not be better for her to march with an elven host now, when the risk is slight, than wait until an hour of great need?”

Thranduil had favored the twins with a sour look.

“You may be right, but your sister’s safety is your charge, sons of Elrond. I will not be left to explain to your parents and grandparents how it is that she has been injured or sent to Mandos’ keeping when she was brought to my lands to be removed from danger!”

Buffy was sure if he had realized that battle would be joined, Thranduil would not have permitted her to join his army. He had expected a quarrel between men and dwarves picking over the horde of Smaug, not a fast moving yrch swarm mounted on wargs.

She had at least gotten to see her little friend Bilbo again, when in a last ditch attempt to keep the peace, he hand delivered the arkenstone of Thrain to Bard and Thranduil. The brave hobbit had refused to stay with them, saying he had promised to wake his friend Bombur for the late watch, and off he had gone. He’d been poorly repaid for his troubles- Thorin Oakenshield did not recognize what a jewel he had in Bilbo Baggins and drove him down to the massed host of men and elves. She had not gotten to speak with him before the battle was joined.

Her mind still shied away from the horror of the battle as her hand would from hot metal. She had been given command of a troop of wood elves, and ordered to protect the retreat of those who had acted the part of the ‘bait’ across the mouth of the valley. Her brothers commanded units on either side of her.

It had sounded so simple, so orderly when the plans were made and the orders given. It had gotten chaotic and bloody unbelievably quickly. The yrch had come in far greater numbers than the commanders of the free folk had realized, and quickly they found their positions being overrun as goblins swarmed the Mountain.

Only half of Buffy’s troop had survived. As often as she had been told that elves were immortal, it had had come as a nasty shock to see them lying on the ground in the unmistakable posture of death. At first that had only fueled her to fight harder-to avenge her dead as much as not to fail in her mission. It was then that she had first worried for her brothers. It hit her as she clashed with the bodyguard of Bolg, just a huge bear appeared out of nowhere, that her parents would be absolutely shattered to lose a child now.

When the bear had carried what was left of Thorin Oakenshield off to safety, Buffy rallied the elves and any men who still stood near and they had fought their way back to the flank of the Mountain, to higher ground commanding a better view of the battle. Then, just as she realized with horror that she couldn’t see either of the Els, the Eagles had arrived, turning the tide of the battle in favor of the free folk.

She’d yelled at her troops, men and elves alike at that point, to keep fighting, that they could die just as dead winning as losing, and fought grimly on until there were no yrch left. Then came the sickening task of carrying the wounded who could still be helped off the field and looking around to determine who had survived the day.

Unlike humans, elves knew if their family members had been harmed, so she was aware even before she went looking for them that her brothers had survived, though it turned out none of them were entirely unscathed. She had several cuts from blade and arrow, Elladan had broken an arm, and Elrohir had taken a nasty wound from a battleaxe. The three of them had reunited briefly, just to see with their eyes what they already knew in their hearts- they had survived.

But now, knowing as she did that this was only a smaller preview of what was yet to come, Buffy could not help the tears. That was why she had crept off to a place on the arms of the Mountain where she would not be seen.

To her surprise, through the haze of tears, she found a handkerchief entering her field of view. Glancing sideways, she found it was Thranduil himself who had followed her. Even more surprising, he did not seem to find her present state a sign of weakness or cause for reproach.

He said nothing, for the time being, allowing her to cry herself out. It was only when her tears began to wane, that he spoke.

“It has been many years since elves fought such battles,” he said, his voice gentler than Buffy had expected. “And for the Firstborn, such death is perhaps more shocking than it is for the Edain, who live their brief lives knowing that soon they must die.”

“I thought I knew what a fight looked like,” Buffy whispered. “But what I have seen before, what I’d done- it was nothing like this.”

Thranduil nodded, gazing down on the battlefield, where even now, parties of survivors were solemnly collecting the dead, preparing them for burial according to the ways of their own people.

“Battle is always a harsh surprise to those who experience it for the first time. And this was no small skirmish. Had I known, I would have sent you to the rear to protect what remained of Laketown in case we had failed.”

“The last line of defence?” Buffy asked wryly, blotting at her eyes with the hanky.

“Indeed,” Thranduil said. “If not for the intervention of the Eagles, it would have gone badly for the women and children who survived the fall of Laketown. Very few men remained to guard them- most marched with King Bard.”

Buffy tried not to sniffle as she contemplated that.

“Still,” Thranduil continued, “I cannot say you were not needed where you were. Were it not for you, our flank might have collapsed entirely.”

“So you don’t think I’m a wuss?” Buffy asked.

“I do not recognize the word,” Thranduil replied gravely, “but if it is akin to coward, no, I do not. There is no shame in tears, not on a day when so many have died. I wept after my first battle, too. And I have wept at other battles since.”

At Buffy’s startled look, he explained.

“I was at the Dagorlad. My father, Oropher, passed into Mandos’ halls that day, as did many a brave elf and man. My tears flowed as freely as any other at battle’s end. As, I assure you, do the tears of many an elven warrior this night.”

The hand that helped her to her feet was sympathetic.

“If, young warrior, you would see the Enemy defeated, I fear you will see worse than this day before you pass into the West or beyond the circles of the world.”

“Into the West,” Buffy said softly. “Though I will not go before the darkness has been defeated.”

Thranduil nodded, accepting with a nod that this child of Elrond had made her choice.

“You should go to your brothers now, Anariel,” he said quietly. “You are not the only one who has not seen such slaughter before, and they will be the better for your company.”


	20. The Shadow

Bilbo watched her out of the corner of his eye. It was the only choice, really, since both of them had been given a place at the high table- he as one of the company of Thorin, she as the elf who had, like a hero of old, helped prevent complete disaster for the dwarves. Not that she wouldn’t have merited a high place in any case, as the daughter of Elrond, but after the battle, no one spoke of her as her father’s daughter- they all knew _her_.

Bilbo had seen her during the battle. Everyone, it seemed had seen her during the battle. The she-elf of the Battle of Five Armies would no doubt be legend before the winter’s end. There were already songs being sung of the paragon of a warrior made inscrutable elven flesh- female elven flesh, which to Bilbo’s disgust seemed to fascinate the Men of the Lake no end.

Privately, Bilbo was quite sure Lady Anariel hadn’t known one dwarf from another in the heat of battle, but Dain Ironfoot had credited her with saving Kili, and although Anariel herself wasn’t too polite to argue with the Lord of the Iron Hills, both Gandalf and the elf king had pinned her with stern looks that had stopped any further protest on her part. She had to accept her role as the protector of the new young King Under the Mountain.

Poor Kili seemed quite overwhelmed by the turn of events that had made him king, and insisted that his older cousin Dain stay. Dain would no doubt be among the young king’s most trusted advisors, probably second only to Balin. Kili had, even before Dain’s guidance, declared his intention to honor Thorin’s agreement regarding the disposition of one fourteenth of the treasure to ransom the Arkenstone.

The Arkenstone had been returned to Kili before the feast this very evening, with Anariel acting as the representative of Kings Bard and Thranduil. Bilbo had heard murmurings from several sides that Kili was the luckiest male in the huge tent that had been raised specifically for the feast- he had both the gem and Anariel at his side.

Bilbo himself was concerned. When he’d watched her return the stone, he’d noticed that Anariel was not herself. At least, not the self that he remembered. Warrior or not, he had seen her kindness and her humor- and her mischief. The words he was hearing whispered about her, and the evidence of his own eyes bore no relation to the Anariel he’d seen in the elf king’s halls, and only slightly more to the goblin bane revealed in battle.

If anything, she seemed in that moment to be an extension of the Arkenstone- pale, remote, gleaming with a light all her own. But that light was cold, a winter morning now where before it had held the warmth and cheer of a summer afternoon.

He had observed that her own people seemed concerned about her also. Her brothers, both so very like their father that he should have guessed them sons of Elrond on sight even had he not been properly introduced, kept quite close to her ever since the battle’s end. King Thranduil watched over her, and there seemed to be a guard of elves around her whenever she moved through the camp. It was a bit silly, to Bilbo’s mind. A girl who could fight the most fearsome goblins in Bolg’s army had little to fear from men, and nothing at all from her own people.

So it was quite the surprise to him when she managed to slip away from the feast. Not unnoticed, of course- Anariel Dagnis would never again be unnoticed by Men. Her brothers exchanged a troubled look, but allowed her to sneak out of the tent unaccompanied.

Bilbo tried not to smile. He had not had the chance to speak to her since the battle, and now was as good a time as any. And unlike others at this feast, he could follow her without being seen.

Slipping the ring on, he followed in Anariel’s wake, which was easy enough to do- even without her in sight, all he needed was to look for the men (and even a few elves) who had the expression which told him she had passed by them.

She moved swiftly, and something in her face must have warned other elves not to approach her. Men would not- they were well aware she was beyond their reach. It was only when she reached the edge of the camp that her pace slowed. She didn’t go beyond sight of the camp- Bilbo suspected there was an agreement between her and her king- but she did look more at ease.

She stood still, regarding the all too fresh mounds marking the burials of men, elves, and dwarves who had fallen in the battle. Not Thorin, of course- he had been entombed in the Mountain itself, and Kili had declared the Arkenstone would be laid on his tomb, in his keeping for all time. But all other dead had been laid to rest in graves, each with their own people. While she regarded each mound in turn, it was not surprising that her eyes lingered on the elves’ mound.

She must have known he was there- she had always known when he was there- so he waited, keeping vigil over her as she did over her fallen, until she was ready to speak. He had quite lost track of how long he waited by the time she did.

“You know, I’m sure I told you to be careful with that invisibility trick of yours,” she told the air around her.

Bilbo removed the ring, now that she had acknowledged him.

“You did,” he replied. “You said to save it for when it was important. I can think of nothing more important than the welfare of a friend.”

She smiled, but it was touched by sadness. The merriment that had previously marked her face was absent, its lack as shocking as its presence had been encouraging.

“I suppose I cannot argue with that. Thank you for being so understanding.”

He knew at once that she meant for leaving her to her thoughts until she felt up to conversation.

“You would have done the same,” he said heartily, sure that he was right. At least, he was right when Anariel was her usual self. He wasn’t entirely sure about this more subdued, distant Anariel.

“Why are you here, Bilbo?” she asked quietly. “I am told hobbits like good food and good company, and I cannot provide either at present.”

“I have always heard it is better to walk a sad road in company than alone,” he offered.

He waited, but she still had returned her eyes to the dead.

“Is it the first time you have seen death?” he asked, shocking himself with his boldness. Elves, he knew, did not die, so it stood to reason that an elf maiden might have trouble with the idea.

“No,” she replied sadly. “Nor the last. Though it is the first time I have seen so much death.”

“Ah,” he muttered. “I thought surely I was the only one who was not impressed with what battle truly was.”

That got no reply from Anariel, so Bilbo pressed on.

“Personally, I shall be happy to return to my own snug little hobbit hole, and the biggest adventure I mean to have after I do will be lighting off fireworks at Midsummer. I shall write poetry, and if I’m feeling particularly daring, I may venture as far as Bree on a sunny day.”

The smile she gave him was marginally closer to what he remembered, just enough to reassure him that she did still know how to smile properly.

“Where is your home, Bilbo?” she asked, sounding more the carefree young elf she had been in Thranduil’s halls.

“In Hobbiton, which if you did not know, is the very nicest part of the Shire,” Bilbo replied. Speaking of it, he could almost imagine his garden, and picture himself seated in it blowing smoke rings.

“Where is the Shire?” Anariel asked. “I may have been told where it was, but my brothers say so many things it’s impossible to remember all of it.”

“West of your father’s house, Lady Anariel,” Bilbo said, heartened to hear her sound more like her old self than she had since those desperate moments on the Ravenhill. “In fact, I shall call on Lord Elrond on my journey home.”

“You will?” she exclaimed, brightening.

It was like watching the sun breaking through the clouds after a storm, Bilbo reflected.

“When are you setting out?” she asked excitedly. “Because I think we go back to Imladris when Thranduil returns to the Greenwood. We could make the journey together.”

Bilbo found himself grinning at the sheer infectiousness of her enthusiasm.

“I believe we will set out when the elf-king breaks camp,” he replied. “Gandalf speaks of stopping in the Woodland Realm before continuing the journey. I think we will also stop at the house of another acquaintance of ours, Beorn.”

“The bear-man?” Anariel asked, sounding intrigued. “He doesn’t mind elves, does he?”

Bilbo laughed.

“I doubt it. You will praise his animals, so he will doubtless like you better than me! But will your brothers not object to joining us?”

Anariel waved that off.

“If Mithrandir’s with you, you must be on the list of folk it’s ok to hang out with,” she assured him airily. “Come on, let’s go find the wizard. And my brothers.”

Bilbo hesitated a moment. While he was pleased to see her more herself, he couldn’t help but wonder at the abrupt change.

“Lady Anariel?” he asked.

She snorted.

“Bilbo, we’re friends, right?” At his nod, she continued. “Then call me Buffy. They call me Anariel, and Dagnis, and other names that aren’t me, and talk as though I walked straight out of a song with a sword in one hand and the light of Elbereth in the other.”

Bilbo wondered if perhaps part of the answer to his question hadn’t just been given, but he asked anyway.

“Buffy, then. Why were you out here, watching the dead, when the entire camp is feasting?”

For just a second, her seriousness returned, though her light blazed brighter in the darkness.

“A reminder to myself,” she said grimly. “And a warning.”

Bilbo couldn’t think what she meant.

“A reminder of what?”

“The price of failure,” she said, and for just a moment, his friend Buffy was not the one speaking, but the mighty elf-warrior Anariel Dagnis. “Of why I must fight the Enemy wherever he is, and see him utterly defeated. Nothing can ever erase that sight, but it may take away some of its sting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the canon mavens: I am aware dwarves entomb their dead, and the one time they had such a massive battle that tombs weren't possible, they burned them. The dwarf mass grave is temporary- the dwarves will relocate their dead to stone tombs, but so many tombs on short notice wasn't possible under the circumstances, nor was stripping all the trees in the area to cremate the dead.


	21. Telling Truths

Arwen had been with her grandparents when the messenger arrived from Legolas in Eryn Galen. Thranduil’s people had taken part in a great battle at Erebor, after the dragon’s defeat. Though there had been terrible loss of life, the mountain was secure. The dwarves were rebuilding, as were the men of Dale.

There had been no greetings from her siblings, but that didn’t worry her unduly. The twins might still be irritated at being packed off to prevent them from joining the march against Dol Guldur, and Anariel would probably be extremely annoyed at having missed not one but two battles.

So it was with an easy heart that she joined Anariel’s friend Xander to tell him the news. While the mortal women had elected to return to Imladris with her parents and youngest sister, the lone male had asked to stay behind. He felt the craftsmen of Lorien had much to teach him about the working of wood, and since it was expected that Anariel and the twins would return to Lorien after their visit to Thranduil’s halls, he could accompany them whenever they returned home.

She found him sanding what looked to be the lid of a chest. It was beautiful, but she couldn’t imagine who it was for.

“It’s for Buffy,” he said conversationally, almost as though he’d heard the question.

Arwen wondered, sometimes, if Xander did hear them. It wasn’t something the Edain normally were capable of, but he often seemed to do this of late- volunteer an answer before the question was asked, or even give information before the question was fully formed.

“I know they made weapons for her before she left, and I realized she doesn’t have a weapons chest here like she did in Sunnydale. So it seemed like a good project to start with. And the way elves take care of things, it will give her something to remember me by.”

He did not need to explain that he meant ‘when I’m gone’- Arwen was not as hyperaware of his mortality as Anariel seemed to be, but she did understand that being mortal, he would one day die, and they would have only memory.

“I do not think she will need anything to remember you by,” Arwen remarked. “You are as much family to her as I am. She could not forget.”

He smiled, though it seemed to Arwen there was both sadness and some bit of knowledge she was missing in it.

“You think that now,” Xander said. “Ask her again in a hundred years or so, when I’m long gone.”

“A hundred years is not so very long!” Arwen protested.

Xander laughed.

“I guess it isn’t when you’ve got forever. It is for us, though.”

“I do not understand,” Arwen said. “The men of Numenor were not so short lived.”

Xander blinked.

“A hundred years is short lived? Arwen, where we come from, a hundred is a venerable age, and very few people live that long. Most die before they reach ninety!”

Arwen was horrified. She had not realized Anariel could expect so little time with her friends.

“But even so,” she protested weakly. “Anariel could never forget someone so important to her.”

Xander sighed.

“I was serious, Arwen,” he said gently. “Ask her again when we’re all gone. Wait until we’ve been dead a decade or so. Then find out if she thinks it’s important.”

“You expect she will,” Arwen said, trying to understand.

Xander nodded.

“Absolutely. It’s part of being mortal. Because the day will come when the people you love can never be with you again, tokens like this are something to hold onto. Something you can see and touch when the people that made them aren’t there anymore, to feel close to them again.”

Arwen considered the idea. Perhaps it was different for mortals. She had heard their memories faded with their days. But for the eldar, memory was evergreen, as deathless as they themselves were. She would need to think on this. And perhaps speak to Adar, who had known more mortals than she had.

“I am sure she will appreciate it either way,” she declared, trying to turn the conversation to less solemn matters. “Grandmother has had news from the Woodland Realm.”

“What hijinx have Buff and the Brothers El gotten up to now?” Xander asked cheerfully, continuing his sanding.

“Evidently nothing of note, they were not even mentioned,” Arwen said, slightly frustrated. She hadn’t thought on it before, but the lack of mention was odd considering that the message had been sent to daernaneth. Surely Legolas ought to have known to convey their greetings to his friends’ grandparents.

“The wood elves, men, and dwarves fought a great battle against yrch and wargs after the dragon Smaug was killed at Long Lake,” she explained. “They sent word to us of the victory and to say that Kili, son of Dis, is the new King Under the Mountain.”

Xander had stopped sanding.

“That’s the Buffster for you,” he muttered. “Tell her she has to sit out one battle, and she goes and finds another. Wait- she didn’t start the battle, did she? She’s ok, right? And your brothers?”

He sounded genuinely concerned, to Arwen’s amusement.

“Xander! I’m sure Anariel was nowhere near the battle! Thranduil would not let her march if our parents and grandparents did not!”

Xander blinked. He waited, to her confusion, then shook his head.

“Wow. You really think she was nowhere near that battle.”

“She couldn’t have been,” Arwen began reasonably, but Xander was shaking his head again.

“Arwen, if she wasn’t, I will live on lembas alone for a month,” he said, raising his hand to testify to his vow. “If there was a major throwdown, she was there. It’s kind of what she does. Short of Legolas tying her up and sitting on her- and I’m guessing it wouldn’t occur to him that’s something he’d need to do- she would get herself into the fight by hook or by crook.”

Arwen’s eyes grew wide. Xander was absolutely convinced of what he was saying. There was not the slightest trace of doubt in him that her little sister had been in a battle.

“There was no word of her,” she whispered, frightened. “Or of our brothers.”

“She’s probably ok then,” Xander decided. “Or at least, close enough to ok to not want to freak anyone out.”

He paused.

“Any word on whether she’s still coming back to Lorien?”

“You think she would not?” Arwen demanded.

Xander shrugged.

“Your parents sent her to the Greenwood to keep her out of trouble, and she went and found it anyway. I don’t know about your dad, but I’m pretty sure your mom’s not going to be happy with her. Buff’s usual m.o. when there’s something she knows your mom will find out about is to let her get it out of her system. Giving her time to stew just makes it worse.”

“Their relationship was not good in your Sunnydale?” Arwen asked. This was the first she’d heard of this!

“Well… your mom kinda kicked her out of the house at one point because of her being the Slayer,” Xander admitted. He hastily added, “at least Buffy thought she did. Two sides to the story, I'm sure. And that was a low point. Things were better after that. But like I said, letting her know what’s going on and not giving her time to stew is key. Buff’ll probably try to beat the bad news home and fess up straight off.”

Arwen frowned.

“I’m going to speak to Grandmother,” she said, rising and heading back the way way she had come. “She will find the truth of it.”


	22. A Slight Miscalculation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Per Tolkien, Middle Earth only has Old World crops - and it seems like he intended them to only have those crops that were native to Europe, so many spices don't exist either. The people of Middle Earth know nothing of the Columbian Exchange. (Except for potatoes. Because Sam specifically mentioned them- and Tolkien later regretted that inconsistency. Although he did handwave "pipeweed" away as being brought from Numenor.) I can see Buffy & co dealing with the loss of modern technology far more easily than the loss of all New World foods. Seriously, picture a world with no pizza and no chocolate...

With a sigh, Elrond opened the door to his study and found two children – one mortal, one elf – waiting for him with hangdog expressions. He had hoped to have support from their mothers in this matter, but Gilraen was puzzled by the nature of the offense and Celebrían (after laughing herself silly at her cousin’s predicament) was still trying to settle the ruffled ellon who had been on the unfortunate end of their mischief.

When his wife and daughters returned to Arda with his daughter’s sworn sisters and brother, all had brought with them keepsakes of California. The children’s choices reflected their personalities and interests. Anariel had brought primarily weapons, but also an oddly cheerful stuffed pig. Tindomiel had a coat gifted from a friend and a few favorite books. Willow had brought an odd device that she explained held the knowledge of more books than could possibly fit into her pack- this one had puzzled Erestor and Elrond both, but they had as yet had no chance to examine the curious ‘computer’. Xander had a few small sheaves of paper he called comics and a box with a ring intended for Anya.

Anya had brought precious stones and gems. Elrond was aware that some viewed her choice as motivated by greed, but he rather suspected that she had been trying to ensure, in her own way, that she would be able to adequately care for those dear to her – if they had misjudged their location and had to travel to reach Imladris, those stones would have been valuable resources to trade for shelter, food, or transportation.

Tara’s choice was the most interesting. While the others had brought things that were immediately tangible – and other than Anya’s choice, largely fleeting, as most things made by men were – her choice required more thought and patience, but would ultimately survive long after she herself accepted the Gift of Men, a lasting legacy that meant elves beyond Elrond’s family would remember her until the end of time. For she had seeds and seedlings for a myriad of plants that she had discovered through questioning Celebrían did not exist in Middle Earth.

In the first few days in Imladris, she had long and involved talks with those elves who were most skilled in Yavanna’s arts, to determine what could be planted, where, and when. She had been disappointed to discover that several of the warm climate plants were unsuited to Imladris or even Lothlorien – several packets of seeds and a dozen carefully wrapped seedlings had been urgently dispatched to the Havens along with instructions for their care and cultivation, translated into Quenya by the best scribe in Imladris. They would be taken to Valinor, where they might be coaxed into thriving as they would not even in the glasshouses of Imladris.

Tara had begged Elrond to say nothing of those varieties to his daughters- if the elves of the Undying Lands were able to successfully grow and harvest them, a wonderful surprise would await Anariel and Tindomiel when they sailed. If they were not successful, it was better not to get the girls’ hopes up.

Tara’s garden had flourished since she and the other two mortal women had returned from Lothlorien. It had been tended in their absence by the Imladrim, of course, but that was not quite the same as the care Tara and Willow lavished on it, with occasional help from both Anya and Celebrían. It had become a favored place for the children to gather, as they kept eager eyes on the progress of the various fruits and vegetables.

Imladris had taken to some of its bounty rather quickly – blueberries and tomatoes were particular favorites, along with beans and the sweet potato. The odd grain which was called corn in the California tongue, but which the elves of Imladris had christened ‘goldenhair’ had taken somewhat longer to catch on. Willow was currently trying to convince the cooks that the fruit of the delicate flowers growing in the glasshouse had a wonderful flavor, no matter how shriveled it looked, as did the bright yellow flesh of a gnarled brown root.

Tara had been trying not to overwhelm Imladris with too much at once, but with the bounty of her garden this season, those elves who were so inclined could try something new nearly every day. Erestor had only the other day been beguiled into trying pineapple, which despite having a similar name to the apple, had no relation to it whatsoever.

But it seemed that some of the California plants that Tara grew in her garden were painful to eat, and his youngest child, knowing that no elf would suspect such a thing, had delighted in tricking Estel into trying a bit of a variety of pepper called a habanero. Estel had told no one of his unfortunate experience after a laughing Tindomiel had assured him the proper course of action was for him to play the same trick on another unwary person. Glorfindel, Estel’s chosen target, had described the experience as being like he imagined eating a balrog would be.

While trying to soothe his mouth – well after ingesting enough water that Elrond had to order him to stop before he made himself ill – the irate hero of Gondolin had demanded of his younger cousin why anyone would want to grow such horrible fruit. Celebrían had replied with some asperity that quite a few cultures of that other world had enjoyed spicy foods, and anyway, shouldn’t he have realized something was amiss when he saw Estel holding the pepper so carefully by its stem? She’d then had him eat a spoonful of honey, which she said should ease the burning somewhat, before handing him bread.

Elrond himself failed to see how the way Estel held the fruit should have been a warning, but he had ordered Erestor to bring the young offender to his study to await justice. It seemed Tindomiel had accompanied him of her own volition – she was unwilling to see him punished for what had been ultimately her idea.

He regarded the pair for a long moment in silence. Estel looked repentant, which was no surprise, but Tindomiel’s expression put him in mind of his long dead twin Elros when he was due for a scolding for something he didn’t feel the least bit sorry for.

“What do you have to say for yourselves?” he finally asked.

“That Glorfindel’s a big baby,” Tindomiel said crossly. “One bite of a hot pepper wasn’t going to kill him.”

“Your mother tells me that eating a whole pepper in one bite is not a pleasant experience,” Elrond replied calmly.

He was pleased to see she did look guilty at that – the joke was plainly intended to be played on someone slightly more cautious.

“He ate the whole thing?” Tindomiel spluttered, looking incredulously at her partner in crime, and showing for the first time a glimmer of remorse.

“We’re sorry,” Estel said contritely, his expression undergoing a complex series of maneuvers to indicate to Tindomiel that yes, Glorfindel had eaten the whole thing, that she was getting them in deeper, and to subtly encourage her to follow his lead.

“I should hope you are,” Elrond said, trying to remain severe despite an unholy urge to laugh. “To help prevent any further incidents, you will be helping Tara put warning signs on all the hot peppers.”

He paused, watching as Tindomiel visibly calculated that they were getting off remarkably lightly before nodding with an appropriately rueful expression.

“You will also be assisting Glorfindel all day tomorrow in whatever task he chooses to set you.”

He relished the horrified looks that appeared on both faces. Elrond couldn’t wait to see what the hero of Gondolin would come up with to settle this particular score.


	23. Not A Fairytale

When they reached his halls at dusk, the King of the Woodland Realm was unsurprised to find a messenger waiting for him along with his son. Over the years, Thranduil had had plenty of experience with Galadriel’s ability to know what was passing far from her own lands. Under the circumstances, he was somewhat relieved to find it was only a messenger and not Celeborn himself. He imagined that if their positions were reversed, he would be waiting impatiently for his erring younger kinsman and grandchildren in person.

Even if he hadn’t erred so much as misjudged the situation…

“Adar,” Legolas greeted him with barely restrained joy.

The younger ellon was aware, of course, that his father had survived the battle, but ‘survived’ did not necessarily mean ‘whole’ or ‘unharmed’. It pained Thranduil that his son had known that distinction from his earliest years- though he has always been thankful that he has largely succeeded in keeping his only child safe. Legolas has known danger, yes, and suffered the loss of his mother, but his youth was not marred by destruction and war as Thranduil’s was.

The king embraced his son, murmuring a few reassuring words for his ears only, before turning to the Galadhrim messenger.

“What news from Lorien?” he asked calmly, watching out of the corner of his eye as his son also welcomed the twins and their younger sister back. The boy is still disconcerted by Anariel, but he can sympathize. Celebrían’s middle daughter is nothing Ennor has seen before.

“My lady congratulates you on your victory at Erebor,” the messenger replied. “She has also charged me to return swiftly with word of how her grandchildren fare.”

The other ellon’s chilly look conveyed all too clearly that Finarfiniel was not pleased.

Thranduil smirked. If he is ever reproved for his actions face to face, he is quite ready to suggest that Anariel is every bit as willful and headstrong as her grandmother was when she first came to Beleriand. It’s perfectly true if the tales his father told him are anything to judge by. And if the remnants of the Exiles wish to claim the girl as completely as they claim her brothers- they can hardly lay sole claim to Arwen when all who have seen both agree she is the likeness of her foremother Luthien come again- then her extraordinary talent for involving herself in trouble is theirs as well.

“My lord has sent a letter to his grandchildren and bid me deliver also to the lady Anariel the things he has sent, knowing that she did not bring clothing fit for a feast such as will be had this night.”

Now Thranduil did raise an eyebrow.

Anariel stepped forward, looking surprised, to receive two packages. One contains a dress more fitting for the princess she is than the warrior she prefers to be. Thranduil hoped this gift was a sign that Celeborn also believes his granddaughter should learn that lady and warrior need not be mutually exclusive- not so far as the Sindar and the wood elves are concerned, at least. (If the Golodhrim think otherwise, Thranduil will very much enjoy watching them try to fight that battle when the girl reaches the Undying Lands.)

Celeborn’s gesture promised to simplify Thranduil’s evening considerably. He had needed the help of both her brothers to convince Anariel to sit still for the fittings necessary for a dress to be hastily made for her before the kings’ dinner to mark the return the Arkenstone to the dwarves of Erebor and reaffirm their alliance in the wake of their victory. But even she can hardly argue when her grandfather has had a dress sent for her.

The other package for her contains something Thranduil had thought lost long ago – something he has not seen since the days of his youth in Doriath.

Anariel looked from the elegant circlet, its silver bands studded with finely wrought leaves tinted delicate shades of green and sparkling jewels cunningly set to look like living flowers, to her brothers. They are just as mystified. How could they not be? They are children of the Third Age, who never saw Nimloth wear this circlet as she danced with her cousins in the great hall of Menegroth.

Thranduil cannot help but smile at the memory, and think how lovely it will look on Nimloth’s great-granddaughter. It was made for a silver head, but will be set off just as well by a golden one.

“It seems your grandfather wishes to remind us all that you are a princess of the Sindar as well as of the Noldor,” he said, noting the twins’ startled look. “That belonged to your father’s grandmother in the days before the Kinslaying.”

He was irritated to see the faint traces of confusion in her eyes. Perhaps Celeborn’s reminder is sorely needed, if the girl was so unaware of her Sindarin heritage. He will have words with his singers. There will be songs of Doriath and Menegroth this evening, and not merely the ones of Beren and Luthien. His young kinswoman should know all of who she is, not merely what the golodhrim deign to acknowledge.

\---

Buffy tried not to groan out loud as they rounded the bend and caught sight of Thranduil’s gates. Legolas was waiting for them, but so was an all too familiar Galadhrim face.

 _This means we’re in trouble, doesn’t it?_ she asked her brothers silently.

_Possibly not. Haldir may just be irritated at being made to wait. Or had you forgotten your first impression of him?_ Elladan replied.

Buffy sighed. It was easy to get the idea that the marchwarden disapproved of something or someone. His natural expression tended to stern and his emotions were usually well guarded.

_Although he_ does _disapprove of Legolas. Far too flighty, these wild wood elves, all too prone to not taking situations seriously_ , Elrohir added with a suppressed snicker.

Buffy would dearly love to know what Thranduil’s very proper son and heir had done for Haldir to be so snippy about him. It must have been good, and suggested that buried deep beneath the public face of Mirkwood’s prince was an ellon who could match her brothers prank for prank.

_You have no idea, little sister_ , Elrohir told her, his mental voice dancing with laughter. _He has been on his absolute best behavior with you around – we think he is trying_ very _hard not to corrupt the young_.

_It has been quite amusing_ , Elladan agreed. _Though we have been wondering how much longer he can keep it up. Especially as it should now be quite clear to the elves of the Greenwood that you are not an elfling._

Buffy caught sight of the fierce glare Haldir had just favored the three of them with.

_Maybe not an elfling, but I’d say we’re definitely in trouble_ , she replied in a subdued tone.

Unlike previous instances of getting in trouble for things she’d done in the course of Slaying, she had company this time. Unfortunately, she also had more in the way of parental and other family figures to dish out said trouble, and the only one she was truly familiar with was her mother. She had a feeling her grandmother will back her against the world after her time in Lorien, but she is less confident about her grandfather and father. And she’s not even completely sure how her mother is going to take this.

Although Joyce had been more laid back about Slaying the last couple years in Sunnydale, Buffy couldn’t help the icy tendril of fear curling around a deep down part of her that hasn’t been able to forget the time her mother hadn’t been ok with what she had to do to save the world. And she doesn’t exactly have the excuse that it was about saving the world this time. She knows darn well that most elves aren’t going to agree that wiping out a bunch of dwarves and men is apocalypse level.

She tuned back in to the spoken conversation to find that Haldir had been sent by their grandparents to get an eyes-on. She was certain Galadriel already knew they were fine, she’s felt the soothing brush of her grandmother’s mind several times over the last few days, but she suspected Celeborn wanted the reassurance that his littlest granddaughter’s definition of ‘fine’ actually overlaps with everyone else’s.

In this case it does, but she’s pretty sure that some of what she’s described as ‘fine’ over the past few years would not be counted as such by even her brothers, who are of similar mind to her when it comes to self-assessment of injuries that are not life-threatening.

The frosty look on his face said that Haldir has plenty of experience in determining how injured the gwenyn are, and he will not be foolish enough to ask their opinion on the state of their own health.

On the bright side, Haldir will be able to honestly report that of the three of them, she’s the healthiest. What small scratches she picked up in the battle had healed before they had even set out on the return journey to the Woodland Realm. Elrohir had been slightly envious, given that the angry red line on his leg had not completely faded yet - he assured her that in another week or so, it would be as invisible any of her wounds. Elladan’s arm was in a sling, and Thranduil had decreed it would stay there until Gandalf said otherwise. (The wizard had simply smiled and declined to involve himself in the matter thus far.)

“My lord has sent a letter to his grandchildren and bid me deliver also to the lady Anariel the things he has sent, knowing that she did not bring clothing fit for a feast such as will be had this night,” Haldir added, and she just knew from the spark in his eyes that he expected a reaction and was greatly pleased that he was the one here to see it.

Her brothers took the letter – she is not good enough with tengwar yet to make out more than her own name or her brothers’, and those she recognized mainly due to repetition – and skimmed it rapidly while she opened the larger of the two parcels, a clothbound package.

The dress – and it’s definitely a dress, she knows without looking that she will find no leggings to go with it – has to be the work of her sister and her grandmother. She doesn’t know anyone else who does such amazing embroidery. She was hugely relieved to discover that neither one of them expected her to develop such a talent, although Arwen had remarked thoughtfully that learning to stitch herself up might be a useful skill for someone who managed to find yrch so regularly.

She’s fairly sure Haldir was expecting a protest, as everyone in Lorien knows she’s much more comfortable in pants for day to day wear. But she’s still a fashion lover at heart, and she’ll be the first to admit that Arwen has an unmatched eye for what will suit her sisters.

The dress was lovely, and Buffy had never seen its like before – the color starts the blue of a summer sky at midday by the shoulders, with ornaments of silver leaves, but darkens over the length of the dress until it is night at the hemline, broidered and edged with stars. It’s super soft, to the point where she could happily sit there and snuggle it. To her relief, the sleeves weren’t the long trailing type that Arwen favored – Buffy could just see herself snagging sleeves like that on everything – so either Galadriel had a say or Arwen realized that her little sister would prefer something fitted.

She actually can’t wait to wear it, and she trusts her brothers to know how exactly it’s meant to look – unlike at Erebor, where she’d been trussed into something quickly made for her by the wood elves, who had attempted to make her look as ethereal as her grandmother but more delicate. She’d been afraid to move in that dress and hadn’t felt like herself at all.

But the real stunner was the other package. It was a small box, its contents carefully padded for the journey. Inside was nestled an exquisite circlet, different from what she’s seen her parents, grandparents, and sister wear. (Thus far the twins have managed to avoid them.)

This one looked more like something Thranduil or Legolas would have, with jeweled flowers in deep reds and frosty white, and leaves in such realistic shades of green that it was only when she cautiously touched one with a single careful finger that she realized they were wrought of metal.

_This cannot be for me_ , she whispered in awe. _Haldir made a mistake, El, he brought the wrong box. This must be grandmother’s._

_Niphredil and seregon_ , Elladan replied thoughtfully. _Those are flowers of Beleriand, not Lindon or Eldamar. I do not think this is something grandmother would wear._

Thranduil spoke at nearly the same time.

“It seems your grandfather wishes to remind us all that you are a princess of the Sindar as well as of the Noldor,” he told them. “That belonged to your father’s grandmother in the days before the Kinslaying.”

Buffy blinked. She really doubted Thranduil would joke about such things. Nor did she believe he would he make her the butt of the joke, as careful as he has been of her these past few weeks. His kindness after the battle more than made up for his sternness before, to the point where she has started to think of him as an uncle of sorts.

_Brothers, when did I become a princess?_ she demanded fiercely, because it’s news to her.

She could feel nothing but pure astonishment from the pair of them. Apparently she’s just walked straight into the wall of ‘things everyone else expected her to know already’. She wondered if she could enlist Legolas’ help tying her brothers up for spider bait. They’d said he’d been on his best behavior for too long…

_Was anyone planning on telling me at any point? And as long as we’re taking a tour through family history, which grandmother does he mean?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is somewhat different from prior chapters, due to several factors. First, a few reviewers had told me that there were not two sides to Buffy getting kicked out of the house at the end of season two. I felt otherwise, as there are usually (at least) two sides to any story. I also re-read the Silmarillion and History of Middle Earth books, and so I was musing on how the world Buffy and co. entered was a lot more complicated than they realized yet. Finally, I wanted to write Thranduil again, because he's really not as awful as a certain director made him... Throw all those things together, and this is what happened.


	24. Where The Heart Is

Buffy was torn when they left Thranduil’s halls. On the one hand, the wood elves knew how to throw a party. Mirkwood feasts were a little more boisterous than those of Lothlorien. (Also, the elves of Mirkwood were considerably earthier than the Galadhrim.) And now that he’d finally loosened up around her, she wouldn’t have minded spending more time with Legolas – especially given that she did have some getting even to do with her brothers, and she felt like he’d be a good ally. On the other hand- parents who were almost definitely pretty unhappy with her right now. And possibly grandparents as well.

It hadn’t occurred to her before, but she was feeling sort of lucky at the moment that aside from her parents, grandmother, grandfather, and siblings, Thranduil and Legolas as the closest thing to family she has here. The familial disapproval might be intense, but it will be limited. It’s not like she had a huge extended family the way some of the wood elves do. Not on this side of the sea, at least.

And her brothers were so in trouble for letting her find out from Legolas that they’re cousins. Thankfully, they’re not close kin- their grandfathers were first cousins. She might actually remember that bit of genealogy, considering how she’d learned it...

Legolas was a wonderful source of information. He just had the world’s worst sense of timing about when to share it. The bit about elven marriage practices, for instance. That definitely should have been shared sooner. At least there had been no harm done. They were both still single. Not that she thought Thranduil would have been too bothered if she had done the local equivalent of a drunk Vegas wedding with his son, but she and Legolas are both pretty sure that they’re better as friends.

It was probably just as well they were leaving before she accidentally found a way to publicly embarrass herself.

Travelling with Bilbo, Mithrandir, and Beorn was fun. Bilbo believed in regular meals and comfort whenever possible – and it was mostly possible, now that he was hanging out with elves, a wizard, and a skinchanger the entire region now knew not to mess with. The hobbit also, against expectation, turned out to be a pretty good cook. Buffy had gotten the impression from what she knew of him that he was the sort of gentleman who had servants. But Bilbo had assured her after he’d caught her curious stare at the campfire the first evening that all hobbits adored food - as such, those who could not cook with some degree of skill were rare, and something of an embarrassment to their families.

Mithrandir favored her with plenty of lore and history of Arda as they rode, apparently aware without being told just how much she didn’t know that an elf her age and official adult status should have known. He also seemed to realize that while the nature stuff was interesting, she particularly liked to hear anything he cared to tell them about dragons. The wizard even managed to make it sound like much of what he was saying was for Bilbo’s benefit instead of hers. She meant to find some way to thank him privately before he went his separate way.

Beorn was just plain fascinating. He’s not the first skinchager she’s ever known, but he is the first bear, and unlike werewolves, he’s fully in control of his transformation. As curious as she was about him, she held back from asking too many question, partly because she wasn’t sure if it was rude, and partly because he’s got that whole laconic thing going. She would have called the emotion that rose within her when it occurred to her how much he reminded her of Oz homesickness except for one thing.

To her own surprise, she realized that she no longer thought of Sunnydale as ‘home’. Somewhere in the mixed up, muddled up adventure that had been their trip to the Woodland Realm, Imladris had turned into the picture that came to mind whenever someone said home. Instead of palm trees and beaches, there were waterfalls and mountains in her mind’s eye now.

Home for her has always been wherever her family is, and that’s Imladris. Her brothers, her sisters, and her parents are all at home there, so she’ll find a way to be at home there, too. She thought quietly about California, and then silently bid it farewell, finally accepting once and for all that Sunnydale was nothing more than a memory, a place where she’d lived for a few years- a blink of an eye for an elf.

Elrohir bumped against her, accidentally on purpose.

_You are thinking thoughts of that other place, little sister. Do you miss it so much, truly?_

He sounded wistful, and a little sad.

She shook her head.

_I miss the people I knew. Giles, Angel, Oz. Wow, I even miss Spike. That’s something I never thought I’d say. But I miss home more._

The brightening of his face when he realized what she meant was better than miruvor, and twice as warming. A wave of joy washed over them both from Elladan.

_We will be home soon enough_ , he said jubilantly, _and you will be happy when you see what kind of welcome we get. Ada never forbids us from travelling, but he is always pleased at our return._

Buffy hoped he’d be pleased to see her, despite the whole accidental battle thing.

_Ada will never not be pleased to see you_ , Elladan said firmly. _You are his daughter._

_And even if he is a bit annoyed_ , Elrohir added, _you are still_ here.

That both her brothers touch her then, almost as if reassuring themselves what Elrohir has just said is true, suddenly made clear just how deeply shaken her family had been all those years that passed in Arda, in a way Buffy hadn’t understood before. It wasn’t just the uncertainty of the loss, of not knowing what had happened to Celebrian and her daughter.

Because even without the physical touch, she could feel her brothers’ presence. She hadn’t understood the importance of that before the battle, but after, she finds herself brushing against their minds every so often, just checking in. Even though she’s at a distance, she was also faintly aware of Dawn – Tindomiel, whatever she chooses to call herself now. Arwen was closer, a blaze of starlight and joy in the back of her mind. And her parents, too. If she focused, she could probably find grandmother and grandfather as well. And if it was like this for her, if it’s already so natural that she takes their presence for granted and would be alarmed if they were suddenly gone…

Her brothers and Arwen and their father spent _hundreds of years_ with an empty space where she and her mother should have been, a lack of presence they could not have avoided. A wound that wouldn’t heal – and one that they must have felt immediately when her mother moved from one world to the other. It’s how her brothers arrived so quickly the day she, her mother, her sister, and the Scoobies left Sunnydale for good.

_That was a very good day_ , Elladan said quietly. _One we had given up hoping for._

_Which is how we can be quite sure that Ada will not be as angry as you fear_ , Elrohir assured her. _You could dance through Mordor naked and he would do nothing more than scold so long as you came back alive and unharmed._

_Though we would prefer you not test that theory_ , Elladan added hastily.

She rolled her eyes.

_Why exactly would I want to dance through Mordor naked? Isn’t that where the Big Bad used to hang? Surely dancing through it with a sword would be more useful._

Her brothers sigh in sync.

_It was a joke, sisterling. Meant to be ridiculous- so that you don’t get ideas. If we said ‘Mordor’ and ‘sword’, you would certainly be tempted._

_Would not!_ she retorted. _I’ve had enough of battle for a while. I want to go home, let Ada spoil me, and catch up on Scooby time and Dawn time._

_And Nana?_ Elladan prompted, well aware that she did not expect their mother to be nearly as calm about her doings.

_And let Nana yell at me and hopefully not lock me up for the rest of time._

She’d rather not tell her brothers about the time she was thrown out of the house. She didn’t want them to worry about Mom’s reaction the way she’s worrying. She also didn’t want them to feel like they had to pick between them. Whatever ripped her mother and her out of Middle Earth has already hurt her family enough. She’s not going to add to the damage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As this is the first time I've 'backdated' a chapter in a story posted here (and I don't think I've ever noticed any stories I'm tracking have this issue) I'm not sure how the notifications handle it... for anyone confused, Chapter 6 is new. I'll try not to do this too often!


	25. When In Rome, Learn What The Romans Do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've written some variation of this at least half a dozen times since Fic A Day, knowing that I wanted it at this point in the timeline. I'm going with this one, because I'm tired of being stalled. There are some pretty important differences between life in Sunnydale and life in Middle Earth that don't center on lack of electricity that I thought should be addressed. My apologies to Rabbie Burns for dragging him into it...

They had been nearly to the Old Ford when Buffy realized why it was that she could feel her older sister so clearly. She turned to her brothers.

“Did the plan change? Is Arwen coming home with us?” she asked.

The twins blinked, as surprised as she was to notice their other sister was nearby.

“Oh dear,” Elladan murmured.

She shot him a suspicious look.

“What does ‘oh dear’ mean?” she demanded.

“It means,” Elrohir answered with a sigh, “that Arwen would hardly ride up the Vale of Anduin alone, even if she kept to the Hithaeglir side of the river. Grandfather must be with her.”

“Why is that ‘oh dear’?” she asked, puzzled. “We like Grandfather!”

She hoped this wasn’t a sign that she should be worried about her grandfather’s reaction. Her brothers had reassured her several times that their father would not be angry so much as resigned and worried after the fact at her having fought at Erebor. If anything, her grandmother seemed faintly amused – although that might be because by the time Galadriel had known, the battle had already been over and she was clearly still alive and well. It might have been different had she realized at the time.

Buffy was aware just how many family members her grandparents have lost over the years, and she can imagine that doesn’t make it any easier to have a grandchild like her. Or her brothers, really. She’s pretty sure they can match her crazy idea for crazy idea. Well, crazy idea by other people’s standards. And this time hadn’t been her fault, really - Erebor had been an accident, not a plan.

It had all worked out anyway…

“It is ‘oh dear’ because it means Grandfather did not consider Haldir sufficient, and has come to see for himself,” Elladan explained.

He glanced at her, and sighed.

“Had we known, we would have made more of an effort when we broke camp this morning.”

“We don’t look that bad,” Buffy replied, nettled as she considered her own appearance as well as her brothers. “Do we?”

“We would have put on better clothes,” Elrohir explained. “And Elladan probably would have tried to make his injury look less serious, not that Grandfather would be fooled.”

Buffy shrugged.

She couldn’t see where Grandfather would care about the clothes. She knew he led patrols himself often enough. He knew even elves got dusty when travelling, and that good robes weren’t for riding the way she and her brothers tended to do. She loved her pretty outfits as much as the next elleth, but not when she’s out in the wild.

When they finally caught sight of Celeborn, they found he, Arwen and Xander were waiting for them, a camp already prepared for even though there were still a few hours of daylight.

She was the one her grandfather greeted first, pulling her into a hug that is as much to reassure himself that she is still there, alive and healthy, as it is to welcome her.

“You, Anariel, were supposed to be visiting Thranduil to keep out of the way, not march to battle,” he said quietly, not letting go of her.

“The best laid plans of mice and men,” she shrugged.

At Xander’s smothered cough, she looked up to discover everyone but him looked utterly bemused.

She sighed and leaned ever so slightly into her grandfather to hide her irritation.

She’d been getting much better with Sindarin – she had to with no other family but her brothers around to buffer her, and Thranduil’s less than subtle campaign to make a proper Sindarin princess of her – but she’s so used to tossing off references to everything from contemporary pop culture to Shakespeare that having to adapt to a culture that doesn’t recognize any of them is incredibly frustrating. Even biblical and mythological allusions, which are practically built into English, don’t register.

“It means sometimes things go wrong,” she explained. “It’s from…”

She trailed off, because she wasn’t actually sure where it’s from originally. She had a vague notion the book wasn’t the ultimate source.

“A poem,” Xander broke in. “We read it in English after we did the novel. Remember?”

Actually, Buffy remembered that Willow was the only one who had (mostly) understood the original version. Now that she thought about it, reading the Scots version was a bit like everyone here listening to her and the Scoobies talk to each other. If they repeated it to themselves and played with the pronunciation, they could get the gist, but usually wound up puzzled about specific words.

“The best laid schemes of mice and men oft go awry,” Xander quoted.

Buffy was relieved he didn’t bother giving the whole verse, as she did remember it now, and it mentioned foresight – something that elves did recognize, and a subject she tried to avoid since so far none of the foresight she’d encountered had been rainbows and puppies.

“Indeed,” Mithrandir replied. “The same may be said of elves and wizards!”

She was grateful to him for the save, and when Celeborn turned to see to her brothers – who were absolutely right in thinking he was not fooled by Elladan’s attempt to appear one hundred percent healthy – she mouthed a quiet ‘thanks!’ at him.

When Celeborn finally let go – mostly so he could examine her brother’s arm – she hugged Xander before Arwen claimed her, first holding her tightly for several minutes before giving her a more intense once-over than even her mother would have done.

“Yes, I really am in one piece,” she said amusedly, as Xander snickered.

“You cannot fault me for checking,” Arwen sniffed. “Especially since we are told you are worse than the boys for saying you are fine when you are not.”

“Who tattled?” Buffy sighed resignedly, expecting to hear that Will or Tara had let something slip in concern.

“Naneth,” Arwen replied.

“Oh, I am in so much trouble,” Buffy groaned. “Watch, I’m going to be grounded until the end of Arda.”

“Well, maybe not quite that long,” Xander suggested. “Just the next thousand years or so.”

“Not helping,” she grumbled, as Arwen finished her inspection and dragged her sister over to the farthest tent to wash and change.

Buffy finished well before Celeborn was done checking the twins’ injuries and – much to her bemusement – giving them a thorough scolding for ‘getting your sister into such trouble’.

She had been torn whether to go with it or fess up that she’d gotten into trouble all by herself, thank you very much, until Xander shook his head.

“He knows,” Xander told her quietly. “He just thinks they should have stopped you.”

“Yeah, that would have worked,” Buffy snorted.

“That’s what I said,” Xander smirked. “But what can you do?”

“Sit back and watch,” Arwen suggested, patting the spot next to hers on a blanket covered log. She left her little sister any choice – Buffy found herself pulled down to sit next to her sister and that was that.

Buffy was startled to discover that while Arwen might play the princess to the hilt at times, she knew how to start a campfire as well as their brothers.

“Since I’m in trouble, does that mean I’m the one who gets to cook?” Buffy asked warily.

Cooking had been the task for the loser of any contest she had while traveling with the twins – fortunately, she hadn’t lost often, because the twins didn’t think much of her cooking ability. (Protesting that she was used to cooking in kitchens hadn’t helped.)

Arwen snickered.

“You are not the one in trouble – at least, not tonight – so I think it is safe to say that you are not cooking. I do not know if the boys will, or if Grandfather will prefer to do it himself. Either way, I think they will use the other fire for that. Grandfather and Mithrandir will likely talk all night, so I thought we should have our own fire. Master Baggins may join us or remain with them as he wishes. How bad is Elladan’s injury?”

“Not that bad,” Buffy shrugged. “Thranduil and Mithrandir both said it’s healing nicely, and they would know. He’s more annoyed about it than anything now.”

Both her brothers stalked over to settle themselves on the other side of the fire with identical scowls.

“Thank you for your help, littlest sister,” Elladan groused.

“Littlest?” Buffy asked. “Did you pick up a head injury, too? Tindomiel’s at home.”

“She is our _youngest_ sister,” Elrohir pointed out, his eyes sparking with mischief. “You, on the other hand, are our littlest sister. And as she is still growing and you are not, it seems likely you will remain our littlest sister.”

Buffy stuck out her tongue.

“I may be short, but _my_ arm’s better,” she pointed out smugly.

“Yours wasn’t broken,” Elladan protested.

Buffy laughed.

“It’d be healed by now even if it was.”

“Just wait, short one, just wait,” Elrohir promised. “Remember, there are two of us.”

Xander snickered.

“Don’t forget, once you get home, she’s got more backup,” he told them. “So, how was the battle? Saving the world any different in Middle Earth?”

Buffy sobered immediately.

“Bigger and uglier,” she replied. “Think ten times the size of graduation. The word ‘horde’ was used seriously to describe the orcs. Real weapons on both sides and casualties to match.”

“Messy,” Xander whistled. “And you only ended up with scratches?”

She nodded.

“One decent one, but mostly just small stuff,” she confirmed, looking to her brothers to back her up.

Elladan raised an eyebrow at her description, but chose not to argue – he’d probably had enough of that with Celeborn, albeit in the opposite direction.

“She forgets to mention she is also a dwarf-friend now,” Elrohir observed. “Bravely saving King Kili before the bodyguard of Bolg could remove his head from his shoulders.”

“How was I supposed to know he was a prince?” Buffy grumbled. “There was a battle on. It was noble of him to try to stand over the dead king-“

“Dying king, as the dwarves tell it,” Elladan corrected.

“Whatever they say,” Buffy said, rolling her eyes.

If Thorin had still been breathing when she got there, he hadn’t been long for the world. The younger dwarf who turned out to be Kili had been on the verge of getting overwhelmed trying to protect him. She’d knocked him down when he hadn’t had the sense to duck, and proceeded to slay the large, well-armed orcs around him with extreme prejudice.

By the time a dazed Kili had gotten back on his feet, the situation was a little more stable, and she’d been able to form a wedge with him and three other dwarves to move Thorin to more defensible ground. If they told the story with him still alive until later, she wouldn’t argue. She’d think they were wrong, but she wouldn’t argue. Dwarves got upset if you questioned their word.

“How was the party?” Xander asked, brushing aside the whole dwarf thing – he’d already heard enough in Lothlorien to know that an elf saving a dwarf could be a sore subject.

Buffy grinned.

“Pretty good actually!” she said. “Thranduil’s people know how to throw a soiree. It was a little livelier than Lorien…”

“Oh, surely you’re not going to leave it at _that_ , little sister,” Elladan cut in with a truly wicked smirk.

They wouldn’t. They so totally wouldn’t…

“Yes,” Elrohir agreed. “You forget to mention the best part. How you almost ended up married to Legolas Thranduilion!”

Both twins nearly fell over laughing at the look on Xander’s face as he realized that they were not joking.

“Buff? How much alcohol was involved?” he asked cautiously.

“Less than you’d think,” Buffy said, with a sour look at her brothers’ matching smirks. “I only had one glass of wine.”

“How strong was it?” Xander demanded.

“Not that strong,” she replied, somewhat insulted. She wasn’t that much of a lightweight! “Alcohol had nothing to do with it.”

“It is not funny!” Arwen hissed, fixing her older brothers with a truly intimidating glare. “How could you?”

“Ha – got yourselves in trouble again!” Buffy crowed. “Serves you right.”

“It is not our fault you did not know!” Elrohir shot back.

“Yes, and it gives us such a wonderful story to tell,” Elladan grinned. “We might tire of telling it sometime around your twentieth yen. Maybe.”

“If you are married. To someone other than Legolas.”

“And we like your husband.”

“Otherwise, we may delight in this one forever.”

Buffy rolled her eyes.

“Yes, me not knowing what the Sindar consider sex ed 101 is totally hilarious.”

“What does the number have to do with it?” Elrohir asked curiously.

“Brothers,” Arwen said pointedly. “What exactly do you mean when you say ‘almost married’?”

The thunderous look on her face settled the twins’ mirth somewhat – Arwen looked uncannily like their father when angry.

“Rest easy, little sister,” Elladan replied. “It is funny because they are not married. Legolas explained matters to her in time.”

“Good!” Arwen snapped. “He should not have had to, however. You are her brothers-“

“Hi, sitting right here and actual adult!” Buffy interrupted, because her sister looked utterly scandalized. “Also, learned my lesson. No taking the name in vain during sex.”

“Wait, what?” Xander spluttered.

“You actually joined with him?” Arwen’s expression had only gotten worse.

Buffy looked from one to the other, and then at the twins.

“Ok, brothers, fun and games are over – time to make with the explanations,” Buffy announced. “Why does Arwen look like I’ve just killed someone?”

The twins sighed.

“Arwen takes a more Noldorin view,” Elrohir said slowly.

“Well that cleared that up, I know exactly what’s going on now,” Xander said after a pause in which none of the three older children of Elrond explained.

“Short version of the part I get,” Buffy said. “For High Elves, sex equals marriage. Period. But the Sindar aren’t High Elves – there’s actually a lot of history there, try not to mix up who’s who, because pretty much everyone is touchy about it – and they think sex is fine between unmarried adults as long as everyone’s willing. By their definition it’s only marriage if you invoke the name of the One during the act. Legolas explained that part.”

Xander blinked.

“So… you’re telling me Ahn and I are already married,” he said slowly.

Buffy snickered. She hadn’t even thought about that.

“Now that you mention it, I’d have to go with ‘yeah, probably’,” she said. “We definitely heard her yell ‘god’ a time or two on the way to Lothlorien.”

“It is ‘Eru’ you must invoke,” Arwen corrected primly.

“Oh, good,” Xander said in relief. “Not that I’m not planning on marrying her – I have the ring and everything, just waiting for the right moment to ask – but I think she’d be a little upset to find out she’d gotten married without knowing it!”

“Yeah, let’s stick with only the actual name counts,” Buffy agreed. “Cause otherwise not only am I a bigamist, my husbands are back in California. And one of them is a total douchecanoe.”

“That would be awkward,” Xander laughed.

“Anariel, you had relations there? At such a young age?”

Just when she’d thought Arwen couldn’t sound any more horrified…

“That is why we did not realize she did not know,” Elladan said calmly. “We knew that she had joined before, yet she is clearly unmarried, so why would it occur to us that it was because marriage is completely different there?”

“Fortunately, it did occur to Legolas,” Buffy said drily. “He knew that I had lived among mortals and was unsure if mortal marriage customs were the same, so he asked before things got too far. Not that marrying him would have been the worst thing in the world, but it would have made for an interesting conversation with Thranduil in the morning.”

Xander cracked up. If Arwen hadn’t been there, he would have asked ‘before or after you were naked’, but Buffy’s older sister looked ready to strangle all three of her siblings as it was.

“It would at least have settled his concern about whether you are more Sindar or Noldor,” Elrohir suggested brightly.

“Pretty sure if the battle didn’t do that, the party did” Buffy replied. “He still thinks I’m slightly nuts, but at least it’s a Sindarin kinda nuts.”

She paused.

“Wait, you said I’m clearly unmarried. How do you know? I mean, just because I’m not wearing a ring, or-“

Arwen glared at her brothers again.

“It would have been nice had you bothered to make sure of what she did and didn’t know,” she said frostily. “She might have propositioned a married ellon!”

Now it was Buffy’s turn to splutter.

“There was no propositioning!”

“Then how did you end up joining with Legolas?” Arwen asked archly.

Buffy was not about to admit the whole story on how exactly Legolas had finally understood that she wasn’t kidding about definitely not being an elfling to her sister – her brothers seemed to think it had come about as a dare or a series of escalating dares between the two of them, and she was happy to leave it at that.

It turned out that sex was an acceptable enough part of life for the Sindar that there were areas of the halls that those so inclined were known to retreat to after a certain point whenever there was a major party. At least, it was known to people other than her.

Legolas had seen the route she was taking back to her room, realized she didn’t know, and followed her, expecting to have to explain the facts of life to an embarrassed elfling. That wasn’t how it had worked out. And since it was clear she did know what was going on and had done it before… Legolas was an adventurous soul. And, as it turned out, a skilled one.

“It just happened,” she told Arwen with a shrug. “Propositioning makes it sound scandalous.”

Elladan sighed.

“Arwen really does not mean it that way,” he said slowly, giving her a meaningful glare.

“No, but…” Arwen looked very unhappy. “Anariel, do you not see how much more special it would be to wait?”

Elladan traded a look with Elrohir, but seeing his twin was leaving it entirely to him, he sighed again.

“You know we are both Noldor and Sindar- decended from both High Elves and what the Exiles termed ‘moriquendi’.”

Buffy nodded.

“Moriquendi meaning Dark Elves,” she explained quietly to Xander. “Basically, the amanyar who came back acted like the umanyar were uncivilized barbarians.”

“I bet that made for good feelings all around,” Xander whistled.

“Indeed,” Elrohir said drily. “And as you can imagine, that the ‘moriquendi’ indulged in pleasures of the body instead of saving themselves only for their mate was taken by the ‘caliquendi’ as proof of their ignorance and fallen ways.”

“Adar has never said anything one way or the other on the subject,” Elladan continued, “So we honestly do not know, but we suspect he was raised with the Noldorin view. Makalaurë and Maedhros were both amanyar, and Gil-Galad’s court was dominated by amanyar and their descendants.”

“Adar may be of the amanyar view,” Elrohir said, “But Naneth was raised Sindarin, and so we assumed she would have taught you as we were taught. The decision whether or not to indulge has been left to each of us. Unlike what you have told us of California, no elf would judge another for not doing so.”

“Though the Noldor certainly judge those who do,” Elladan sniffed, “Arwen has taken the Noldorin approach – to wait and join only with the one she will bind herself to for all time – though thankfully not the judgmental attitude.”

He didn’t need to explain that the twins took the same view as Buffy herself – she knew perfectly well they’d ‘indulged’ same as she had. She suspected they were actually sought-after partners among the wood elves.

“That still doesn’t explain how you know I’m not married,” Buffy pointed out.

Elladan laughed.

“Whether or not they are bound shows in an elf’s eyes,” he said. “And it's certainly clear enough to your own brothers!”

“I can’t go around staring into everybody’s eyes to try to figure out the difference!” Buffy protested.

“Do not worry,” Elrohir said reassuringly. “We will find a way for you to see that does not involve staring. I am certain you will recognize it quickly enough – all other elves do.”

“Dumb question,” Xander piped up. “What about… wait, I don’t even know the word in Sindarin. Contraception?”

It took some lengthy explanation on Buffy and Xander’s part before any of her older siblings even understood what was being asked. Once they did, Xander and Buffy were astonished to learn that elves didn’t actually need any such thing – and that even the twins, who had trained as healers, were unaware that mortals usually did.

“I wouldn’t mention that to Anya,” Xander muttered, after the two of them had gotten over their surprise at the idea that reproduction was a voluntary thing for the eldar. “She’s already jealous enough that you get the immortal lifespan and eternal youth.”


	26. Home Again

Elrond smothered a grin.

His youngest child had been sitting in the courtyard all morning, eyes firmly trained on the mountain road. Anariel, Xander, and the twins were expected to return today, and Tindomiel had asked for them as soon as she’d woken up. She’d bolted her breakfast and then taken herself outside to wait. All attempts on Estel’s part to pry her away from her vigil had failed in her excitement at finally having her sister and brothers back home.

Anya, Willow, or Tara checked in on her periodically, but seemed content to leave her on watch duty, trusting that she’d make enough noise when she spotted her siblings that they could be on hand to greet the returnees.

The contrast between his daughter and his wife was telling. Where his littlest star was all giddiness and excitement, Celebrían was a bundle of nervous tension.

She had not taken the news of their daughter’s involvement in battle well.

The news had been broken to them by Galadriel directly, as soon as it had reached her from the Woodland Realm. She’d let them see that Celeborn was also listening to the conversation, and preparing to go meet his grandchildren when they set out from Thranduil’s halls.

Elrond hadn’t been pleased to hear that his daughter, who was far too young to be marching to war, had fought as part of Thranduil’s army. He planned to have words with Thranduil on the subject – the older ellon was a father himself and Elrond would have expected better.

But Celebrían’s reaction had been a fury that surprised even her parents in its intensity – and Elrond had been startled to realize that the anger covered truly gut-wrenching fear. He could feel the thought screaming at the top of her mind– her daughters were supposed to be safe here – and the helplessness she felt at Anariel’s apparent determination to involve herself in any trouble to be found. She did not want to surrender a child to Námo.

Both her parents had tried to reassure Celebrían that Anariel was well enough, only to have her laugh hysterically and ask who had told them so.

“I’m sure she _said_ she’s ‘well’, naneth, but she’ll say that for everything from concussion to limbs wrenched clear out of their sockets!”

He’d winced at that, as had Galadriel and Celeborn. He had felt Galadriel’s deep concern, but she had ended the conversation quickly, leaving them with the promise that Celeborn would soon have his own observation on the matter, which she would relay to them at once. Elrond had spent the rest of a very long night trying to calm his beloved.

Dinner had been a tense affair, during which he’d made the mistake of sharing the news with Tindomiel and Estel. His younger daughter’s airy assurance that her sister was fine, but her brother had a broken arm hadn’t helped. Estel had looked confused by the entire situation, while Tindomiel had shot her mother nervous looks the rest of the meal, aware she’d somehow made things worse.

Tindomiel had, however, given him a clue as to why her mother was reacting so strongly. After Celebrian and Estel had both left the table – in complete opposite directions – his youngest had sighed.

“Poor naneth,” she said sympathetically. “She thought you’d found someplace nice and quiet to keep Buffy out of trouble. At least no one will get kicked out of the house this time.”

Elrond had gaped at her.

_Kicked out of the house? As a teenager?_

There was a reason elves only brought children into the world in times of peace. Young elves required the support of their parents in the first decades of life, otherwise their fëa would be gravely damaged. The loss of one parent could be devastating. The shock of losing both at a young age could kill an elfling.

Elrond knew that all too well, having been orphaned in all but name at the age of six. Many elves had been amazed that he and Elros had survived not only the Kinslaying, but the complete sundering from both parents. That had been despite the support of adults anxious for their continued well-being surrounding them almost immediately. (Not that most elves had believed them when they explained that had been the case.) It had been attributed to their being only peredhil, nearly half mannish. Purely elven children would have faded.

His children may be called peredhil, and even be granted the choice of which kindred to count themselves, but they are more elvish than anything else –their most recent mannish ancestor is a great-grandparent. And unlike him, his young daughter hadn’t had a twin to lean on to cushion the blow of being suddenly separated from all other close kin.

He had needed some time alone to gather his thoughts and master his own temper, because demanding to know what in the name of Manwë Celebrían had been thinking would not be productive.

When he did finally join his wife, he found her in their bedroom, weeping.

He’d had many difficult conversations in his life, but that one had been among the most difficult.

He hadn’t even known where to begin, especially when Celebrían raised teary eyes to him and said in a voice that betrayed all too well how she was feeling,

“We can’t even send her West to keep her safe.”

He could feel that was her dominant desire. She just wanted her children safe. There had always been risk. Middle Earth still had its perils, and would as long as the spirit of Sauron endured. She knew her sons hunted yrch. She knew there was still the chance that one or even all of the four who had not yet made their choice would choose a mortal life. But she’d truly believed that in returning to Arda, Anariel might be able to leave the Slayer behind. To know peace. To not risk her life every night, fighting the darkness over and over.

“My love…”

She knew what he wanted to ask, even before he could find the words. She could feel the question.

“You cannot possibly think worse of me for that than I do of myself,” she whispered.

She opened her mind to his, and let him feel the toxic maelstrom of guilt and disgust and terror when she thinks of that time. She had not understood the Slayer was real before that night. She had panicked, and trusted in her daughter’s love for her mother to do what common sense and self-preservation instinct would not – to keep her at home, where she belonged. Where she might be safe. Not running out into the night after killers.

She hadn’t known then, who and what she was, or what her daughter was. She hadn’t understood the damage she was inflicting on both of them. All she had known was that she felt deep in her heart that she’d made a terrible mistake when Anariel walked out into the darkness. She’d sat up the rest of the night, waiting. Hoping. And hadn’t seen her child again for months.

She still doesn’t know where or how Anariel lived during that time.

For Elrond, the worst part was not just the scars he could feel on his beloved’s fëa, even years later. It was his certainty that if he examined his daughter, he would find a matching set of scars on her soul.

Which is why he has been checking in on his daughter every so often this morning, as she and her brothers draw closer to Imladris.

He could feel her happiness at being nearly home again, and her desire to stay there for a while – between the battle and what she thinks of as the ‘ _after-party_ ’ at Thranduil’s, she has decided that she wants several months of peace and quiet. Maybe even a year.

He could also feel her nervousness. To his surprise, it centered not only on her mother – who she has correctly guessed is very unhappy with her actions – but also on him. His daughter feared his reaction.

“They’re here!” Tindomiel yelled.

Her call was loud enough to draw both the mortal women and her mother to the courtyard as his children rode in with Mithrandir and the hobbit Bilbo Baggins. Estel also came running, wide-eyed and eager to meet Tinu’s older sister and to see the twins again after their time away.

Tindomiel could hardly wait for the travellers to climb down from their horses.

“You guys took for freaking ever to get home!” his youngest daughter exclaimed happily, bouncing from brother to sister to brother for hugs, chattering at top speed the entire time. She managed to give Xander a quick hug before being elbowed out of the way by Anya with a firm, ‘go bug your other brothers, I haven’t seen my boyfriend in months.’

She might be worried about his reaction, but Anariel approached him with a steady step, looking all for the world as if she had no feeling in her heart but joy at being home.

“Ada,” she greeted him, bouncing up to give him a quick kiss. He folded her in a fierce hug, trying to wrap her in love and reassurance.

“It is good to have you home again,” he told her quietly.

“It’s good to be home,” she replied with a shy smile.

Her worry about him has melted away.

That was when Celebrían joined them. Elrond tried not to hold his breath, especially because he could see his daughter bracing herself, torn between happiness at seeing her mother and trepidation at her reaction, and at the scolding she knows is coming.

“Anariel,” her mother said tightly. Celebrían’s embrace is no less fierce than Elrond’s was, but the emotions behind it are more complicated.

When his daughter draws back, she gave her mother a sheepish look.

“ _I’m grounded, aren’t I?_ ” she asked, speaking in the California tongue.

“Definitely,” Celebrían replied. “We’ll talk about it later.”

Elrond wasn’t sure what grounded meant, although he did understand it was some form of punishment. But it didn’t seem important at the moment, because Anariel was still smiling. His daughter and sons were home. All was well with his small corner of the world.


	27. Where The Heart Is II

Buffy grinned.  
  
The best part of being back in Imladris was having just about her whole family – barring Arwen and her grandparents – around again. Her mother seemed nonplussed that she wasn’t all that upset at being grounded. Actually, her mother had spent far more time trying to explain the concept of ‘grounded’ to her father and brothers than Buffy had in acknowledging that she did kinda deserve it, even if the battle was not her fault at all. (She’d done her best to leave King Thranduil out of it. She’d like to go visit again someday, after her mother has been reassured that she doesn’t just wander around Middle Earth looking for trouble.)  
  
Right now, she was catching up on Scooby time.  
  
She’s had plenty of time on the road to hear all about Xander’s adventures – which he had assured her were not nearly as adventuresome as hers – in Lothlorien. Today she begged Tara to show off the garden she’s heard about from what seems like every single elf in Imladris, and Tara hasn’t disappointed. Not only is the garden gorgeous, the food that comes from it is a sight for bored eyes. After months of tame elven food, she was thrilled to finally eat something a little spicier, and it wasn’t like anyone else needed much excuse for Mexican.  
  
Anya and Willow been exploring elven ‘magic’, which apparently is not thought of as magic here, even though it would be called that in Sunnydale. Buffy had been intrigued to learn that while some of it is written, based on runes, quite a bit of it is worked through song. They were in a fairly intense explanation of the properties of some particular rune when Willow said something that made Buffy tune back in.  
  
“We could always check in the library, there’s bound to be something there.”  
  
“Library?” Buffy asked. “There’s a library?”  
  
Anya shook her head.  
  
“This is your house, how do you not know there’s a library?” she asked.  
  
Buffy sighed and decided now was not the time to remind Anya how little time she’d spent ‘at home’ before they’d left to visit her grandparents, and how much of that time had been taken up by showing the twins her proficiency with various weapons and learning how to ride a horse.  
  
Willow grinned impishly.  
  
“There’s a library. Way better than the high school’s.”  
  
“Yeah, for a start, this one’s not located directly over a Hellmouth,” Xander pointed out.  
  
Anya rolled her eyes.  
  
“We weren’t talking about location, we were talking about content. There are books in this library significantly older than I am.”  
  
Buffy blinked. She’s been scolded before for her casual indifference to the proper treatment of old books, so putting her in a room with tomes that antique doesn’t sound like the best idea.  
  
“Don’t worry, they don’t look ancient,” Willow said reassuringly.  
  
“Besides, your mom mentioned we could have a room just off the main library for studying if we wanted,” Tara said. “So you don’t _have_ to hang out with the volumes of the First and Second Age if you don't feel like it.”  
  
Buffy smiled slowly. Hanging out in the library again would be nice. Especially a library that was probably much safer than the SHS one.  
  
“It’s not like you have much choice,” Anya mused. “I mean, you’re going to have to learn a lot – it seems like your family are involved in most of the important parts of history here. Although I guess you have to work on basic literacy first.”  
  
Willow glared and Tara sighed, while Xander started to reply, thought better of it, and quietly facepalmed at the overly blunt reminder that Buffy couldn’t read much more than her own name in elvish letters.  
  
“It’s not so bad,” Willow assured her. “We made a lot of progress when we realized that Joyce – I mean, Celebrían , I keep forgetting – would be a better tutor than Arwen or Lindir. She knows Sindarin, Quenya, and English, so she did a better job explaining the sounds that go with the letters because she knew what we’re used to.”  
  
“Yeah, you’ll be reading in no time,” Tara agreed. “Tindomiel’s already good enough that she’s started transcribing some of what Willow brought on her laptop – Shakespeare, Austen, Harry Potter…”  
  
Buffy stifled a snicker. She can’t wait to hear the elves’ reaction to that last choice – not to mention, she’s curious to see what Dawn chooses to do about years 5, 6, and 7. Maybe she’s waiting to see how Harry goes over first.  
  
“Oh, that reminds me,” Willow said. “Xander, we were thinking that now you're back we should have a Star Wars movie night.”  
  
Xander’s face lit up.  
  
“All right! I can’t wait to see what the brothers El think of Yoda and Vader.”  
  
Buffy blinked.  
  
“Will, do I want to know?” she asked cautiously.  
  
Willow grinned.  
  
“You know magic and technology let me bring a lot more than I could have carried in books and DVDs alone,” she said smugly. “It won’t last forever, though. When the laptop wears out, that’s it – it’s not like we can get new parts here. So we decided we should start having movie nights, because your father says elven memory is different than ours, that you’ll remember forever once you’ve seen it. So if your brothers watch, even once we’re gone, you’ll still have someone around besides Dawn who will understand why ‘have fun storming the castle’ is funny, or know why St. Crispin’s Day matters.”  
  
Although Willow’s subtle reminder that Buffy counts with the elves and her casual mention of mortality was less than comfortable – like pressing on a bruise – Buffy still had to snicker, because Willow makes it sound like there’s some highbrow reason she liked Henry V.  
  
“Will, I really only watched that because Christian Bale was in it.”  
  
“It’s still Shakespeare. And I didn’t think we should show them Swing Kids.”  
  
That sobered her right up.  
  
For all the sharing of the human history and culture of Earth they’ve been doing – and elves love learning, so they’ve been happy to see and hear anything Buffy and her friends are willing to show or tell - there’s some things Middle Earth really does not need to know about. Nazis are on that list, along with modern warfare in general. Having seen what old-fashioned warfare can do, Buffy is prepared to stand by that call. Orcs are bad enough with swords, she doesn’t want to picture them with machine guns or napalm.  
  
“Right. So.. Star Wars,” she said, bringing the discussion back to where it started, and hoping to put off uncomfortable conversations until some other day.  
  
Xander looked at her knowingly. His smile was slightly melancholy.  
  
“Remember, Buff, the Force will be with you, always.”


	28. A Good Sword

Buffy grinned.

Technically, she was grounded, but since ‘grounded’ wasn’t really an elven concept, Ada had decided that it meant she had to remain within two days ride of Imladris and have an adult other than her brothers with her at all times when she went beyond the boundaries of Imladris itself. It was hard to say who had been more irritated by these strictures- her mother, who had pointed out that if she was able to go wherever she liked, she wasn’t grounded; or her brothers, who were insulted that they suddenly didn’t count as adult supervision.

The cave where Bilbo and his dwarves had encountered trolls was two days’ ride from Imladris if one rode without stopping- not that Bilbo was able to do such a thing. First off, his little pony could not possibly have kept pace with the horses of the elves, even if he had only Bilbo to carry and not Bilbo’s treasure as well. Second, hobbits needed significantly more food and more sleep than elves. But technically it was two days ride, so Buffy had been able to cajole Glorfindel into playing chaperone and the twins had come along out of curiosity.

It ended up taking them five days to reach the spot keeping a pace that was comfortable for Bilbo, but Buffy didn’t mind. Until now, she had never been west of her father’s house, only east. Everything she saw was new to her, and the possibility of encountering trolls was hardly a deterrent – ‘ensuring Bilbo and Mithrandir have no more trouble with trolls’ was the excuse she’d given her father for why they should accompany the hobbit and the wizard at least as far as the troll cave.

Privately, Buffy suspected her father wasn’t really that fussed about the terms of her punishment, but merely going through the motions to humor her mother. Celebrian had been somewhat mollified by her daughter’s insistence that she didn’t want to go on any more long trips for a while. And Buffy meant it. Really, she’d barely gotten to know Imladris before going haring off to Lothlorien.

But she was curious about the trolls. And more curious to see what else might have been stashed in the troll cave.

The wizard had hinted that there had been other swords in the stash, just not as fancy as the blades of Turgon and Ecthelion. Even if they were perfectly boring, ordinary mannish swords, it seemed like just asking for trouble leaving them lying around. And Buffy was intrigued by how two of the most famous swords of the Gondolin had come to be in a troll cache in Eriador…

Her brothers persuaded Glorfindel to tell them some of the history of the Hidden City on the journey to pass the time. Bilbo had seemed quite interested, so Buffy had let Glorfindel go on as long as he wanted, even though she was bored by the descriptions of buildings and festivals. The gates and layout of the city had been interesting, and she’d been mildly surprised to discover that the King of Gondolin had been her father’s great-grandfather. Buffy would have liked to hear more about the layout and defense of the city, not to mention the battle at the end, but she wasn’t about to demand that Glorfindel tell a tale that ended in his own death.

_He has told the tale before, little sister_ , Elrohir told her silently. _Who do you suppose taught us about it?_

Buffy frowned.

_I don’t think I would like telling about how a demon killed me, even if I came back_ , she replied dubiously.

_Why not?_ Elladan asked mildly. _You’re cheerful enough about the time you drowned._

That was true, but that had been neither as painful or as lasting as what her brothers had told her of Glorfindel’s demise.

_He is alive now, and it is not as if he is not used to telling the story_ , Elladan pointed out. _But if you do not wish to ask, there are also books in Ada’s library on the Fall of Gondolin._

_And songs- Lindir will happily sing them for you_ , Elrohir added.

Lindir would no doubt indulge her- the Imladrim were very happy to have her back. She had the impression they felt unfairly deprived by her running off to visit her grandparents so soon after her return. But the books did her no good. She couldn’t read them. She didn’t mention that to her brothers, though. It was embarrassing enough being illiterate without having to remind everyone of it. It was worse that she was making very little headway learning elvish letters.

“Here we are,” Mithrandir announced cheerfully.

They all dismounted, and Bilbo looped the reins of his pony around a tree. The elves had no worries that their horses would bolt, and allowed them their freedom, knowing the animals would not stray far- the horses were smart enough to know that if dangerous creatures were about, near their elven riders was the safest place to be.

The clearing wasn’t far off the road, and as promised, it contained three large, ugly stone statues.

Buffy cocked her head to the side, wondering if these were normal trolls or not, but decided there would be time enough for questions later. She was supposed to be behaving herself, and ‘behaving’ meant not giving non-elves the impression that she was less than knowledgeable about Arda. An elf old enough to travel without her parents would know about trolls.

“Yes, they are quite normal trolls,” Glorfindel said, speaking in Sindarin so Bilbo would not know that Buffy had not seen trolls before either. “Not particularly large or clever specimens, either.”

“And yet trouble enough for the unwary,” Gandalf added with a smile. “Always remember that trolls must be below ground during the daylight hours, or they return to the stone from which they are made. Orcs may journey by day at need, though they like it not, but trolls never.”

Buffy nodded thoughtfully.

“Here is our small hoard,” Bilbo called, at work with a small spade which had evidently been secreted nearby for just such a purpose.

Glorfindel and the twins were just as curious as Buffy to see what else the trolls had amassed, and with four elves helping, it did not take long to reveal the cache.

The coins were of no interest to Buffy, though the boys glanced at them, no doubt able to tell where and when they had come from. It was the weapons she wanted to see. Bilbo might have been a novice treasure-hunter at the outset of his adventure, but the dwarves of Thorin Oakenshield’s company had known well enough how to preserve the swords that they had not wished to take with them. They had been bundled together, well wrapped in cloth and leather that looked to have been repurposed from the clothing of troll victims.

Most were just as the twins had predicted: very ordinary swords of men. Most were in such poor condition that it was clear why the dwarves had seen no point to taking them. But in between the mannish swords, Buffy found one that even her untrained eye could recognize as elf make.

It was not as flashy as Glamdring. The scabbard was plain, no-nonsense. The jewel-less hilt was more to Buffy’s taste than the sword of Turgon – this was a sword made by someone who knew the real purpose of a sword. To her surprise, when she picked it up, it fit her hand. She was so small for an elf that this was unusual – unless this sword had been made for an elfling. Buffy didn’t know if such things were done, even in Gondolin.

She cautiously unsheathed the sword, and gasped. Because while it wasn’t flashy, it was beautiful. The design of this sword was far more elegant than that of Glamdring. The metal had lost none of its gleam over the years – and it wasn’t just plain steel shining at her. Buffy knew only a little about metal – though she meant to learn more – but she did know you wouldn’t use real gold in the blade of a sword. But however the effect was achieved, the blade she held had golden streaks, and more fascinatingly, streaks of black. Sun and shadow chased each other around the sword.  
There were also the more usual flourishes and decorative accents, because elves think swords should be beautiful as well as deadly.

She decided that she approved of whoever made this weapon. She regretted that she couldn’t read, because there are runes wound around the blade, and she was curious to know if the sword had a name.

“Brothers,” she called quietly.

The twins’ look of surprise at her find was quite satisfying.

Elladan glanced at her for permission before taking the sword and examining it critically.

“Does it have a name?” she asked.

Elladan nodded.

“Dancing light,” he replied, as if she had been asking what the name would be in Westron. She does not yet understand any elven tongue but Sindarin, but the Gondolindrim would not have named their swords in Sindarin.

Elrohir joined them, also looking at the sword closely.

“A very fine blade,” he pronounced. “Though it is unsurprising that it was overlooked by the dwarrows. No jewels or fancy workings on the hilt, and hiding among all the plain ones.”

His eye was caught by the stamp near the hilt, the maker’s mark.

“You were not intending to keep this sword, were you?” he asked quietly.

Buffy glared at him. The first sword she’s picked up that wasn’t special made for her but looks and feels like a real sword, not a kid’s sword? And pretty to boot? Of course she was intending to keep it. The only way it could be more hers was if the runes spelled her name.

“Why not?” she asked with a frown.

He showed her the mark as if it would mean anything to her.

“A mole?” she asked, perplexed. “So what? Moles are cute.”

Her brothers faces were matching studies in exasperation.

_The Lord of the Mole, little sister_ , Elrohir prompted her. _Maeglin.The traitor of Gondolin? That’s whose mark is on this blade. I do not think you should keep it._

She glared at him. It’s totally not fair trying to have an argument like this in front of Bilbo.

_Ask Glorfindel_ , Elladan suggested at the look on her face. _I suspect he will also say you should not. A granddaughter of Turgon carrying a sword made by the one who betrayed him?_

She fought a strong urge to roll her eyes, reminding herself that elves don’t do things like that in front of non-elves. At least, grown elves don’t.

She didn’t see why she should care what else Maeglin did- as far as she’s concerned the relevant point is that the guy made a good sword. She doesn’t think he could have made a sword that was more her if he’d tried.

Glorfindel had noticed the tension among the children of Elrond, and walked over with the clear intent of defusing whatever was going on.

He glanced at the sword with an expert eye. Taking it, he gave it a few experimental swings before handing it back to Buffy and gesturing for her to do the same. When she did, clearly finding it balanced to her satisfaction, he smiled.

“It should serve you well, Anariel,” Glorfindel told her.

He cut off her brothers’ incipient protest at her triumphant grin.

“Maeglin did many things in his short life, young ones. It is true he betrayed his city to Morgoth,” he said quietly. “But he made excellent swords.”


	29. A Different View

Buffy was sorry to see Bilbo go. She’d grown fond of the hobbit and used to having him around, but it could not be helped – he was off to the Shire, and she had to return to Imladris. A trip to Hobbitland would have to wait until her mother’s temper cooled a bit more.

The return journey to Imladris was different. Without the wizard and the hobbit, they travelled faster, and conversation was less constrained – which was not necessarily a good thing, since Buffy and her brothers were still at odds with each other over her new favorite weapon.

Glorfindel had been doing his best to keep the peace as they rode. He had altered his tales of Gondolin, and Buffy realized he had known perfectly well which parts she had been listening for before. His descriptions now were less of festivals and more of the things one who meant to defend the city would know.

He went over the layout of the city again, but this time focusing on its strengths and weaknesses, until she knew where she would have placed the defenders to buy time for the people to escape. (Her choices were not always the same as Turgon’s, from what Glorfindel was telling them.) The gates, all seven in order from wood to steel, he described in such detail that she could see them clearly in her mind’s eye, and wonder at the innermost ones. The Gate of Steel had been a marvel, possibly the greatest of Maeglin’s works. Not that any gates could have held against dragons and balrogs…

And this time, Glorfindel also spoke of the people he had known. His own Golden Flowers, who he praised for their discipline and bravery in the face of overwhelming odds, but also the other high lords of Gondolin, those sung of for their courage or noble sacrifice- nearly all of them - those held as indecisive or cowardly – Salgant – and of course he couldn’t quite avoid mentioning Maeglin.

That was when Glorfindel’s valiant attempt to keep the children of Elrond from fighting with each other failed.

Buffy listened, increasingly mulishly as her brothers built off the older elf’s description of the ill-fated prince of Gondolin – which he had tried to balance with the good Maeglin had done before his fall – their argument for why she ought not keep her beautiful new sword. Finally, she could keep silent no more.

“I did hear you the first twenty times,” she told them acidly. “You have thoroughly denounced Maeglin Lomion as a traitor and a shame to both his house and his kind. Feel free to move on at any time.”

“Anariel, he betrayed Gondolin,” Elladan retorted. “If not for him, the city would have-“

“Would have what?” she demanded. “Would have stood a little longer? With all Morgoth’s thought bent on finding it, on destroying it? For how long? Another year? Ten years? Fifty? Long enough for Earendil to grow to manhood and fall with the others defending the escape of those few who survived?”

She may not know much about her grandfather, but she was sure a man who would give up everything to try to find a way West to save the world would not be persuaded to run away when his city, his people were in danger. He would have fought, and he likely would have died for it.

Her brothers looked first astonished, and then displeased by her intransigence, but a glance at Glorfindel showed them that they were on their own for their first serious quarrel with their little sister.

“That still does not excuse him,” Elrohir said sternly. “He did not have to give away the location of the Hidden Valley.”

“No one made him do it,” Elladan nodded.

She stared at him in utter incomprehension.

“El,” she said slowly, as though speaking to a child instead of her older brothers who had been full grown long before her birth, before Arwen’s birth even “he was _tortured_. By Morgoth himself.”

“Then he should have remained resolute, as Maedhros Fëanorion did!” Elrohir growled.

Her brothers had begun telling her the tales of the First Age on journey over the Misty Mountains to Lothlorien. They covered this one sometime on the way to Mirkwood, so she did know who and what they were talking about. But she suddenly realized with sickening clarity that particular story did not go the way they seem to think. She had thought when they first told it to her that they knew.

“Morgoth kept him for years, not the mere months Maeglin Lomion was held,” Elladan backed up his twin, “and yet Maedhros was steadfast. He did not break!”

They may have seen more of battle than she has, but the very fact that they could speak so told her that they knew little if anything of torture. This was something they should hear from their elders, not from the little sister they have scarce stopped thinking of as ‘the baby’. And yet…

She did not know the full truth of what happened to Maeglin Lomion in Angband – and she suspected she did not truly want to, because she could guess. She has seen enough of torture to fill in the blanks. All he would have had to do is waver for a mere second, something even one with no weakness might have done. That would have been all Morgoth needed. And Maeglin had a weakness, a terrible one.

A beautiful cousin he loved, wed to a mortal man. Whether his dislike of Tuor was born of petty jealousy, or distrust of the edain after the treachery at the Nirnaeth cost his uncle’s life mattered not at all.

Maeglin had been doomed from the moment the orcs found him. It had been only a question of how long it would take.  
She sighed, unsure how to explain this to them.

It was not even about winning the argument anymore. She needed them to understand, because the same thing could happen to any one of them. Sauron had not been destroyed, and Morgoth too would return someday. Torture was actually her greatest fear – with Slayer healing, she would survive far longer than even other elves, and it would be no blessing.

“Brothers, Maedhros had nothing the Enemy wanted,” she said gently. “He could have broken a thousand times and it would have helped him not at all. Morgoth desired nothing from him except his screams.”

The twins both looked utterly gobsmacked at the idea that Maedhros might not have been a paragon, just a very unlucky elf.

“But-“ Elrohir began, before stopping abruptly, looking sick.

“Morgoth already had the Silmarils, did he not?” she asked them quietly. “Fëanor was dead. There was nothing more his sons could give him but the pleasure of their fall.”

He must have nearly died laughing, gleefully watching the havoc as the Oath undermined them again and again.

“Then Fingon’s heroic rescue-“

Elladan stopped, as if he could not bear to ask the question.

She did not want to rob them of that. She knew full well that story was loved by the Eldar, for Fingon’s courage and loyalty resonated with many in the Mortal Lands. If Maedhros was the example of how to bear through captivity, to hold out hope when all seemed lost, Fingon was the lesson that faith and courage will be rewarded.

She might have believed that once, before she had seen that faith and courage could lead to death as easily as reward. The list of those who died in Sunnydale was not short, and few of them could have been said to deserve their fate. What had Jesse ever done, or Jenny? Kendra? How long would Faith survive, courage or not?

She bit her lip, unwilling to shatter any more of their illusions, but suspecting that Maedhros’ escape had amused Morgoth greatly, knowing how fleeting his ‘freedom’ would be and at what great cost it was purchased.

She waited, quietly, as her brothers reconsidered their position on things beginning with M related to torture.

She did not share with them her suspicion that Maeglin’s torture might not have ended with his release from Angband – she also knew enough of evil to realize that he may well have been little more than a puppet from the time of his ‘release’ until the time of his death, a horrified observer in his own body, aware of what was to come yet unable to stop it, dying with Morgoth’s laughter ringing in his ears only after seeing all that he loved destroyed.

The stories say he was given a token to protect him during the sack. Funny how the stories never mention that Maeglin would have _known_ that Morgoth’s word was not to be trusted. That part of Maedhros’ story was true enough. For Maeglin to have gone quietly back, to have believed that he would be spared and permitted to save Idril even without her peredhel son was beyond folly. Even those who condemned Maeglin as traitor did not name him a fool.

A quick glance at Glorfindel showed her surprised respect in his eyes, and she wondered if he has tried to make them see this before, or if he too had never thought of Maeglin in this light. He must have thought from time to time on what really happened. She knew he has called some of the songs about his death silly, so he was well aware that story and fact often parted ways.

“The sword-” Elladan finally said, slowly, uncertainly.

She could see they would reprove her for it no more, even if they have not decided yet whether they believe her that Maeglin may be more victim than monster.

“I mean to use it,” she replied steadily. “It’s mine now. It was meant for me, even if its maker didn’t know it. Maybe I’ll get to thank him for it someday. But that sword came to me for a reason.”

That much she’s sure of. She may be new to the elven foresight thing, but she knows this for a fact: there will come a day Morgoth is going to see that sword in her hands and know fear.

She doesn’t say that part out loud. Her brothers have had enough to take in for one day.


	30. The Shadow of the Past

Celebrian smiled at the sight of her cousin riding into Imladris, her sons and middle daughter following. Although the twins looked subdued, Anariel was all smiles, chattering away happily to Glorfindel as they headed for the stables, their golden heads standing out like a beacon among the more prevalent dark hair of most Imladrim.

If she wasn’t mistaken, her littlest had come home with yet another sword – not that she needed any more. Between what she had when she left Imladris with her brothers, what Celebrian’s parents had gifted her in Lothlorien, and what she had acquired from Thranduil’s folk and the dwarves of Erebor, Anariel was already well on her way to having as extensive a weapons horde in Imladris as she’d had in Sunnydale. And she had yet to discover that Imladris had an armory…

It was a relief to have her problem children back under her roof. Though it had been Anariel she worried most about in the wake of the battle at Erebor, she was not without concerns for her sons. She had heard enough of their bitter and merciless orc hunts in the years she had been gone to know that they needed her attention as much as their younger sisters did.

Not all her children were home – Arwen had elected to remain in Lothlorien, resuming the visit her mother and sisters’ return had interrupted. Celebrian did not begrudge her that – she knew her parents had been largely responsible for holding her family together in her absence, keeping Elrond from surrendering to grief, the twins from doing anything too rash, and Arwen from being smothered by the weight of it all. Her mother had told her that her oldest daughter had nearly sailed, worried sick that her baby sister might be released from Mandos to find no family she knew waiting for her.

Celebrían herself would have happily remained longer in Lothlorien, spending time with her mother and father. She has missed her parents as much as she has missed her husband. But Elrond had wished her and Tindomiel safely away before the assault on Dol Guldur, and in truth, she was needed here. The children are not the only ones still adjusting – Celebrian herself is still adapting to the changed dynamic of their family. And still working to heal the damage.

Tindomiel had the easiest transition. Already used to being the baby but less used to being the youngest of five with every single one of her older siblings overprotective, she had been adding to the annals of Imladris elfling pranks, using her California experience and knowledge to show the elves that even after thousands of years, there could yet be something new under the sun. Thankfully, when not finding new and innovative forms of mischief, she seemed to take more after Arwen than Anariel.

Tindomiel had found a partner in crime (and punishment) in Estel, the latest in the line of kings to foster at Imladris. Estel, for his part, seemed charmed to have gained not only a playmate close to his own age in Tindomiel, but also an older brother who knew what it meant to be mortal in Xander. Thus far, the boy had been too in awe of Anariel to approach her, though Celebrían was confident that once he does, he will discover her nowhere near as intimidating as her fast growing legend might suggest.

Arwen, of course, had been wild with joy to have not one but two baby sisters returned to her – and taken it largely in stride that Anariel now considered herself an elleth grown, not the little one she ought to have been and still looked. Once Tindomiel had relented and accepted Arwen, she had spoiled her youngest sister shamelessly to make up for lost time. And she had been immensely relieved to have her mother back. When it came to her youngest and oldest daughters, Celebrian had few worries.

The twins, on the other hand... She has heard the tales of their unrelenting grudge against the orcs, their decades-long hunt that had nearly consumed them. It was not just Elrond who had been concerned about them – everyone who knew them had worried, from their kin in Lothlorien and the Greenwood to even those elves of the valley who knew them only in passing. Even their mother and sister’s return had not fully healed the damage. She felt that it was really their time travelling with Anariel that had begun to salve their wounds.

Celebrían had been immensely relieved that Anariel’s relationship with her older siblings had not suffered more for her time in California. Sundered so long from her kin at such a young age, it was possible that she might have never recovered from the lack of the family bonds most elves took for granted. She and Elrond had said nothing of their concerns to their daughter, however, choosing instead to wait and observe when they had first returned.

Anariel had been slightly standoffish for a few minutes after the first introductions – she recalled nothing at all of her older brothers or sister, and Elrohir’s typically boisterous welcome had taken her aback. Fortunately, her trust in her mother had been strong enough not to question her abrupt change from oldest of two to second youngest of five. Her outgoing and friendly nature allowed her to quickly recover from the surprise and be pleasant if not overly warm to the twins.

Elrohir and Elladan had been very upset in those first days to discover that not only did their adored baby sister not remember them – or their language – at all, but that she had in the years she had been away acquired siblings of choice in Xander and Willow. Fortunately, they had concealed it well from Anariel, but it had been easy enough for Celebrian and Elrond to see. For all their years and wisdom, the twins had needed their parents’ reassurance that they had not been wholly displaced in their sister’s heart.

Much of Celebrían’s time those first few days back had been spent in comforting her sons, doing her best to not only heal what she could of the damage inflicted by an absence of nearly three yeni, but to help them understand Anariel. Tindomiel had been in many respects easier for them to bond with. Not only did she take to Sindarin almost instantly, at only 14 – and precious little of that time real – she was now not just ‘the little sister’ but ‘the baby’ and perfectly happy to bask in the attention of her big brothers.

As Celebrían had expected, Anariel’s facility with weapons had been the key to reconnecting with her brothers. Anariel had been happy to have sparring partners whose abilities better matched her own, if somewhat less pleased to discover how much her brothers felt she had yet to learn. Xander, Willow, Anya, and Tara all seemed relieved to discover the twins were more than happy to take over their sister’s training. Celebrían could only imagine they had been picturing themselves taking turns as the practice dummy of the day indefinitely.

Their sudden trip to Lothlorien while Arwen and Tindomiel came to an understanding seemed to have cemented their relationship – and proved once and for all to the boys that while Anariel might also regard Xander as a brother, they were definitely her big brothers and had an unshakable place in her world. Celebrian just wished they hadn’t had to cap it off by involving themselves in the largest battle in several centuries, resulting in the worst casualties an elvish army had suffered since the days of Sauron.

It was in light of their suddenly battle-hardened relationship that she had insisted that the boys were not adequate chaperones for Anariel for the duration of her grounding – such as it was, once her husband had finished defanging it. Grounding wasn’t really a concept among elves, since elflings in Ennor rarely ranged far from their parents prior to coming of age. It wasn't that she didn't trust her sons so much that she worried that they and Anariel would egg each other in when it came to rash decision making. Not a one of them would ever back down in the face of a fight.

If she had meant to drive them further together, it had certainly worked – the twins had gleefully aided and abetted Anariel’s brief but spirited campaign to be allowed to accompany Mithrandir and his hobbit friend at least as far as the Trollshaws. For Anariel had taken her mother’s reaction to the Battle of Five Armies with surprising grace, protesting the admittedly lax terms of her ‘grounding’ only in so far as wanting to accompany Master Baggins as far as the Trollshaws to assure the halfling’s safety. Between Mithrandir and Glorfindel, Celebrían had felt there were sufficient level-headed adults along to allow it.

Now that they have returned, Anariel's training regimen with Glorfindel would begin. Celebrían may not like that her daughter is a warrior, but she will see to it that Anariel is the best warrior she can possibly be. She meant her daughter to arrive in Aman on a ship, not through the gates of Mandos as so many of her forebears have.

She wondered what in Arda Anariel had done or said now to have discomfited her brothers so – particularly since it didn’t seem to bother their cousin in the least. Glorfindel looked as serene as ever.

It was not a long wait before she found out.

There was a quiet tapping at the door, accompanied by a quiet _Nana? Are you busy? May I come in?_

“Of course, Elladan,” she replied aloud. _Even were I busy, I always have time for you, my son._

Her more thoughtful son entered the room looking troubled.

His brother was not with him, but the twins had discovered in their youth that they could effectively be in two places at once – one sitting sedately visible at an innocuous task, while mentally listening in on whatever mischief his brother was working. As they had matured, they began to put their trick to more responsible use, with one conducting a serious conversation while the other served as his backup. It made them formidable negotiators, as more than one opponent had discovered over the years.

Celebrían suspected they had decided to attack the problem from more than one angle – Elladan speaking to her while Elrohir pursued some other avenue of enquiry they had decided on together.

“Nana,” Elladan began hesitantly, “what was California really like?”

Celebrían was puzzled. After the initial reunion, when the boys had been full of questions about where they had been and how they had lived, she has occasionally spoken to her older children of California in passing, filling in anecdotes her younger daughters regard as settled history, or explaining what appear to folk of Imladris to be astonishing behavior or gaps in their experience such Tindomiel’s disproportionate excitement at winter snow or both her younger daughters’ utter bemusement at Tarnin Austa.

“What do you wish me to speak of, my son?” she asked, at a loss for where to begin.

Elladan did not answer immediately, and she could feel his uncertainty and even a hint of fear. She began to worry.

“Why does Anariel know so much of torture?” he asked at last, electing to be blunt.

Celebrían stiffened at the question. Her son made no pretense that this was a casual question – it directly related to whatever was bothering him.

They will finally have to speak of the Slayer, of what was done to Anariel, beyond merely the explanation her husband had given Arwen and the twins of her stunted growth. Her sons have embraced their sister’s abilities, but they have never questioned them. Perhaps they believed that it was normal in the world their mother and sisters had known for an adaneth of not quite twenty to be so lethal.

Celebrían was certain that if the situation had been reversed, if her sons had suddenly appeared in Sunnydale, Anariel would have been full of questions about how they had appeared and who or what had been responsible. The count of her years might not match her brothers’, but she already knew instinctively what they had yet to grasp – there was always a price for such gifts.

In Anariel’s case, the price had been her youth and innocence. Her height was merely the visible tip of the iceberg. If Celebrían ever got her hands on whoever had done this to her daughter, there would be a reckoning. Morgoth himself would tremble before her wrath.

“Why do you ask, my little one?” she replied gently, dreading what the answer might be.

The tale that came tumbling from his lips was less disturbing than she had expected, in truth. Disabusing her brothers of the notion that Maeglin Eölion could have held out in the face of relentless torture had not been what she thought to hear, but it was not as upsetting as some of the things Anariel might have said.

Celebrían did not delude herself that she knew all, or even most, of what her daughter had seen and done in Sunnydale. But she knew enough to understand that her daughter had seen things no elfling should have at her age. And she knew how much this would upset her older children, for she was certain they had no inkling of it. Anariel’s sunny disposition fooled many, and she was unlikely to have spoken to her older siblings in any detail of the darkness she had already faced.

Her son, despite his nineteen yeni, sounded very much an elfling wanting nana to tell him there were no orcs under his bed. Elladan might not want to admit it, but he had understood that for his sister to speak with such certainty, she must have seen torture – or possibly even experienced it herself.

She wished he were still an elfling. In those days, she could cuddle him and tell that it was all a bad dream. If she could only say that nothing so dark had ever touched the sister she knew beyond doubt he would give everything to protect. But she can’t. She will not lie to him – either about what she knows, or that if he wished to learn more, he would have to ask Anariel herself.


	31. Real Me

Elrond could hear the sound of swords floating up from the training yard long before he reached the balcony he usually watched from. He had meant to be out here sooner, but finishing the letter soothing Thranduil – and reassuring him that despite whatever Galadriel and Celeborn had said, Elrond did not hold him responsible for his daughter’s involvement in battle – had taken longer than he’d expected.

It was difficult to reassure someone of something you weren’t completely certain of yourself. He had certainly hoped that Thranduil, as a careful father himself, would be able to keep his littlest child out of trouble. (He’s slowly beginning to suspect that might be a task only incrementally less difficult than the one Thingol had set Beren.)

One of the strictures placed on his middle daughter after her return from Erebor – at her mother’s insistence – was daily training with Glorfindel. As she had only just returned the previous evening with her brothers from escorting Mithrandir and his hobbit along the more dangerous part of their road back to Hobbiton, this was her first session.

For an elf who wanted nothing more than to keep his family safe, watching first his sons and now his daughters learn the way of the sword has only ever been bittersweet at best. He understood they needed to be able to defend themselves, and his sons will always want to protect their younger sisters. There was comfort in knowing they would not be defenseless. But he had never enjoyed watching the process.

He can’t forget what he has seen swords do over the years, and how many of his kin have been on the receiving end.

Occasional instructions punctuated the clang of metal on metal ringing through the air.

“Mind your footwork!”

He would have preferred to train his daughter himself, but Celebrian had said flatly that her mother’s cousin was the best warrior in residence. She had allowed that her husband was second best only at his indignant look. To soothe his disappointment, she had offered that Elrond probably knew the spear better than Glorfindel, and that so far as she knew Anariel had no experience with spears.

It was not much comfort.

“You are dropping your shoulder. Again.”

He found his youngest daughter already leaning against the railing, watching her sister and Glorfindel sparring with a critical eye.

“Hi, Ada!” she greeted him cheerfully before returning to her observation.

At her tender age, she was nowhere near up to the level of instruction going on in the yard below – she knew little more than how to hold a sword properly. But she did have a fair eye for the fighting abilities of others, honed by hours watching her sister train in California.

“How long have you been watching, gil-nin?” he asked, ruffling her hair.

She shrugged.

“Maybe half an hour?” she offered. “I’m not really sure. Since whever Erestor got tired of my questions about the differences between Telerin and Sindarin dialects.”

Elrond smothered a proud smile.

His youngest child was already a scholar in the making. It was a relief to find that her skills, at least, would not cause her mother further worry. It was an even greater relief to discover that he had not missed her entire childhood. Unlike Anariel, she was yet reckoned an elfling, and would remain so for some years to come. Fourteen might be nearly adult for the edain, but for elves it was only early childhood. And her fourteen was not a normal fourteen at that.

Much like her older sister, her size did not match her years. Her hröa had been created with the edain in mind, and was thus much taller than any elfling would be at such a young age. To Elrond’s relief, the nearly two years since her return to Middle Earth had shown that Tindomiel's growth followed the elvish pattern, not the mannish. She would likely not reach her full adult height for another twenty to thirty years – and unlike her older sister, he judged her likely to be as tall as her grandmother.

“You know it is not only Erestor who can answer such questions,” he reminded her.

“I know, ada,” she chirped. “But he was there, and he did not seem to mind, so I asked until he said he had other things he needed to attend to. Then I came to watch and see how Buffy was doing.”

Elrond did not sigh aloud at hearing his middle daughter’s current preferred name. He did so hope she might accustom herself to her given name soon. But for now, it seemed to help that her younger sister humored her in the matter – for the twins flatly refused to use the California name any longer, and even Celebrían was trying to wean her away from it gradually.

“And how is your sister faring?” he enquired, watching closely.

Tindomiel shrugged.

“Ok, I guess,” she said slowly, sounding troubled. “She’s definitely enjoying this, but I don’t think that was really nana’s point.”

Anariel did look to be holding her own, which was fairly impressive. The Balrog Slayer of Gondolin was not noted for going easy on his trainees - and Elrond knew Celebrían had made it very clear to Glorfindel that he was not to be soft on her daughter who had already managed to finagle her way into a major battle, no matter how little and adorable he thought she was.

“It looks as if she is not doing too badly,” Elrond observed, puzzled at the less than approving way his youngest was reacting.

Tindomiel sighed in exasperation.

“You need to stop holding back,” she called down into the yard.

Glorfindel frowned at being reproved by the child of Elrond who knew the least about weapons and fighting. Tindomiel’s own lessons in this area were as yet only with her father or brothers, and far more basic. She was not even permitted more than wooden training swords – much to her irritation, all her older siblings were in complete agreement with their parents on that subject.

“I am not trying to actually hurt your sister, Tinu,” he pointed out patiently.

Tindomiel snorted.

“You’re not the one I was talking to.”

All eyes turned to the petite blonde who was still unexpectedly pristine. Elrond knew the pair had been out here for over an hour. Normally Glorfindel would have dumped his opponent on their behind at least once by now, and more likely several times. But Anariel’s leggings and tunic showed no sign of contact with the ground – or anything else, for that matter.

“What?” she asked innocently.

Tindomiel rolled her eyes and switched to the California tongue.

“ _You’re supposed to be learning to fight better, Buffy. How is Glorfindel going to train you properly if he doesn’t know what you can do?_ ”

To Elrond’s surprise, Anariel chose to reply in Sindarin. Usually if handed an excuse like this, she would speak California until reminded that her speech was much too fast for anyone other than her younger sister, mother, and the Scoobies to follow.

“I’m not holding back,” she protested. “I’m just protecting my sword.”

Elrond blinked. His youngest daughter gave her older sister a deeply skeptical look.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to protect the sword,” Tindomiel replied dubiously.

“But it’s so pretty!”

Elrond was about to protest that it was a perfectly normal training sword – which meant that though it was as carefully crafted as any other sword fashioned by elvish hands, it was blunter than those that would be used in earnest – but Glorfindel decided to expedite matters.

He launched himself at Anariel while she was distracted, forcing her to react without time to think.

The next few minutes were a dizzying blur of thrust, counter, and increasingly acrobatic movement as two warriors dropped any pretense of holding back and tried to gauge what the other could really do. Several times, it looked like the older elf had beaten the younger, but Anariel proved to be extremely adept at evading blows that would have prompted most Imladrim to yield.

The flurry of movement came to a halt only when Glorfindel abruptly stopped, and Elrond realized that his daughter had actually been nicked on the upper arm.

“Enough for today,” he declared, glancing at the trickle of blood on Anariel’s sleeve. Though he knew on some level that such training mishaps were inevitable, he wasn’t yet prepared to see his daughter bleeding.

To Elrond’s surprise, though that was clearly why Glorfindel had ceased his attack, his daughter didn’t even seem to notice her injury. Her face showed only pure delight.

“That was fun!” she exclaimed, turning to Glorfindel. “Why did you stop?”

Tindomiel looked at her father.

“That’s more like it,” she told him.


	32. See How They Grow

Buffy was just putting her newest (and current favorite) weapon away when she heard the sound. If this were Sunnydale, or even if she was in the wild, she’d have probably thrown knives first and asked questions later. As it was…

She turned, incredibly fast to normal human eyes, but still not as fast as she could have if there was true need, sword in hand. She had to suppress a giggle at the huge eyes and slack jaw gazing up at her.

“Estel,” she said reprovingly. “It is really not a good idea to sneak up on people holding swords.”

“Ada always knows I am there,” the boy replied patiently. “So does Glorfindel. That means you should too.”

She knew she hadn’t scared him. She hadn’t meant to, either. Merely to make a point. She was getting used to having an Estel-shaped shadow, but he needed to learn there was a time and a place, and when she was holding sharp objects was not it.

“And Elladan and Elrohir say I should practice being quiet,” he continued. “It is a good skill for a Ranger.”

“True,” she agreed. “But I bet those Rangers make noise on purpose when they’re back at their camp to be sure not to startle the guy in charge of the weapons.”

She watched him consider her words.

Buffy was well used to older brothers now. Younger ones were something new. Particularly younger ones who looked at her as if she could do no wrong. It was a little unnerving. She was used to Dawn – no, Tindomiel. She had to keep reminding herself that Dawnie preferred her elvish name now. Sure, her little sister looked up to her, but not the same way the youngest of the Elrondionath did. He didn’t quite idolize her, but it was uncomfortably close.

She also knew better than to get used to the literal ‘looking up’ part. Estel was already at her shoulder, and at just eleven, he had yet to hit his major growth spurt. But unless humans of Middle Earth were vastly different than humans of Sunnydale’s Earth, it couldn’t be more than a few years away. Buffy was under no illusion she wouldn’t be regaining the wholly un-coveted title of ‘littlest one in the family’ fairly quickly.

Technically Estel wasn’t her brother- according to the Els, he was their cousin at some ridiculous number of removes, a descendant of Ada’s brother who had chosen to be mortal, but he’d been brought up in Imladris as part of the family since he was two. With his dark hair and grey eyes, he looked more like her older siblings than she did. It made it hard to remember that he was not only not her true brother, but mortal besides.

She wasn’t sure how she felt about the ‘mortal’ part. She has already packed the knowledge that the day is inevitably coming when she will lose Willow, Xander, Anya, and Tara firmly away until she feels ready to deal with it. (Never would be nice.) She was even less equipped to deal with the idea that her cute little shadow would grow up, grow old, and die while she would look as if she hadn’t aged a day.

He was Tindomiel’s favorite companion and partner in crime, but since Buffy had returned from her visit to Thranduil’s kingdom- and ok, the battle that was apparently already being sung about from the Havens to Belfalas- he’d taken to following her around whenever Tindomiel was occupied with lessons and he wasn’t. Unfortunately, that was increasingly often.

Humans might grow faster in body, but elves grew faster in mind. Tindomiel was still growing, albeit noticeably slower than Estel, but mentally she was already in college and on a fast track to grad school. She had mastered Sindarin before she even visited Lothlorien, and was now on to elvish Latin, not to mention making up for lost time with the literature, history, and politics of Middle Earth. She spent much of her time either in the library or in their father’s study. There was little chance Estel could keep pace with her even if he wanted to.

So once he was released from his own lessons, Estel tended to watch Buffy’s sessions with Glorfindel or her brothers, or just tag along to see what she was up to, given that with summer coming on, it rarely involved being indoors. Even if she was doing her required daily Sindarin slog (Lindir had commented with only a hint of challenge that her tengwar were almost legible these days), she tended to be outside unless it was raining.

She wasn’t entirely sure what the kid expected. It wasn’t as if she was going to do something worthy of song on a daily basis.

She sighed.

“Don’t practice your quiet when I’m in the armory, Estel, ok? If you ever get good enough at it to startle me, you could get hurt. There would be tears.”

“I wouldn’t cry!” he protested indignantly. “I’m brave like a warrior!”

“I didn’t say you’d be the one crying,” she replied. “I’d cry if I hurt you by accident. And Tindomiel would cry because you wouldn’t be able to play with her while you were stuck in the hall of healing.”

“She probably wouldn’t even miss me unless it was suppertime,” he muttered.

Buffy sighed. Maybe it was time to have a word with her little sister about the virtues of fresh air and not abandoning friends.

“Come on, quiet guy,” she said. “Let’s go see what Tara is up to in the garden.”

He scuffed a foot, suddenly finding the floor very interesting.

“I’m not allowed in Tara’s garden anymore,” he mumbled – or at least, that’s what she was pretty sure he had said.

She blinked.

“Why not?” she asked cautiously.

She didn’t want to promise he could go in if he and Tindomiel had done something bad enough for Tara, who whose good nature and even temper was unmatched among the ‘children’ of Imladris, to lose patience. She also wasn’t sure she wanted to know what could have been that bad.

“I played a trick with a pepper,” Estel confessed, his face flaming.

She couldn’t help the peal of laughter. This was a story she hadn’t heard yet.

“Who told you that you weren’t allowed in the garden anymore?” she asked, certain the answer wasn’t any of the Scoobies. They’d have respected a successful prank too much to ban him.

“Glorfindel,” came the sheepish answer.

“Lucky for you it’s not his garden then,” she replied. “Come on.”

The brightening of his eyes told her he really wanted to, but he still hung back. She held out a hand, which he happily grabbed, cracking a wide smile.

He skipped along beside her as they wound their way down the path to the area of the grounds that had been set aside for Tara. She could hear the Scoobies chatting as they drew closer, and when no one of an adult nature appeared to chide him for being there, Estel dared to let go of her hand and run the last few steps.

“Look what I found,” Buffy announced.

“Heya, Hope,” Xander grinned. “Good to see another guy – but be careful, we’re still outnumbered here.”

“Pfft. You love it,” Willow snorted as Anya bumped him with her hip, nearly knocking him onto his butt.

“Here, Estel, take a basket,” Tara suggested, handing him one. “We’re picking blueberries – we need to get them before the birds do. We’ll use whatever we pick today to make jam so you can still have the taste of blueberries all winter long.”

The boy looked positively thrilled to be allowed to help, and once shown how to tell which ones should go into the basket- and that yes, as long as they were ripe they were ok to eat, just make sure that enough went into the basket for the kitchen later- set about picking with glee.

_We’ve kinda missed him underfoot_ , Willow chuckled silently. _Since you’ve taken pity on him, you better tell your sister it’s ok for her to return, too. Just don’t let Glorfindel see them coming in for a little while longer._

Buffy decided she’d have to get the story later. For now, she was happy just to relax and enjoy time with her friends. The conversation ebbed and flowed, in the mix of Sindarin and English (or California, as the elves called it) that they’d taken to using. Most of their pop culture references just didn’t translate into Sindarin, even if they’d mostly gotten used to speaking it to everyone else.

“So,” Anya began, “I realize it’s only just summer now, but has anyone stopped to think where we’re going to hang out when the weather turns cold again?”

Buffy shrugged.

“It’s not like Imladris is lacking for ‘inside’ space,” she said, unconcerned.

She was pretty sure she still hadn’t seen all the ‘inside’ of the main house, never mind all the outbuildings. And then there were the smaller houses scattered around the valley, which was home to thousands of elves. If need be, they could always commandeer one of the empty ones. Though the population of the valley was still sizable, it had once been much larger, and elves built to last.

“I think what Anya means to say,” Tara said, “is that it would be nice to have a space that’s all of ours, where we can hang out without constantly invading one another’s rooms.”

“It worked last winter,” Willow protested.

“Yeah, but there were only three of us last winter,” Anya replied. “And occasionally the rug rats, when they weren’t getting into trouble elsewhere.”

“What’s a _rat_?” Estel wanted to know. He was proud to be learning the preferred language of the Scoobies, but still had to ask for explanations frequently.

“Nâr,” Willow translated.

“What have rats to do with rugs?”

“It’s a phrase that means children.”

“That makes no sense!”

“The point is,” Anya continued, talking over the side conversation, which she knew from experience could take some time before the kid either gave up trying to understand the mysteries of California or was satisfied with the explanation, “with five of us, even if none of your other siblings decide to drop in, it’s going to be crowded unless we all suddenly develop a talent for keeping our rooms tidy or get lots of extra furniture.”

“That’s quite an if,” Buffy said dubiously. “Besides our helper here, the twins certainly seem to like hanging out, and if Tindomiel ever gets over her ‘read all the books’ craze, we’ll probably see her more often again.”

“I’m sure Arwen won’t want to be left out whenever she comes home,” Tara pointed out.

“Exactly. It will be too crowded to be constantly in each other’s rooms,” Anya said, sounding oddly pleased.

“You sound like you have a plan, Ahn,” Xander said patiently.

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Anya said with a triumphant smile, having led the conversation neatly to where she wanted it. “We are used to hanging out in a library, are we not?”

Buffy wrinkled her nose. Imladris had a library – bigger than Sunnydale High’s, actually – and they occasionally used it, but it didn’t seem like a viable Scoobie spot.

“I don’t know,” she replied dubiously. “Giles might not have minded us taking over the high school library, but I can’t see Erestor putting up with us doing the same here.”

Tindomiel was allowed to more or less live in the Imladris library, but Buffy was pretty sure she wouldn’t be.

“Anariel, what is _high school_?”

“I’ll explain it in a minute, Estel,” she promised quietly.

As far as her father’s seneschal was concerned, she had two strikes against her. First and foremost, she wasn’t a natural scholar like her younger (and probably older) sister. Second and more unfortunately, Tindomiel had told him about the time she’d damaged one of Giles’ ancient tomes and not mentioned that it was an accident. Add in that Scooby gatherings, even in libraries, rarely stayed quiet…

“Actually,” Willow said, “I think we could persuade him to let us have one of the workrooms if we promise to stay out of the main library unless we’re actually looking for a book…”

“By ‘we’, she means ‘she’,” Xander clarified. “Because I’m pretty sure Erestor would nix it if you or I ask.”

“I have no problem asking,” Willow said placidly. “I just don’t want to do it if we don’t really mean it.”

“No,” Buffy said slowly. “I think it could be good, actually. If we had a space of our own, we could spend as much time there as we wanted. Nana and Ada will definitely approve, because it means I might actually make progress with learning to read properly.”

“I already have the perfect spot in mind,” Anya said triumphantly. “There is a large workroom, with plenty of windows so we would have a view, and it shares only one wall with the main library so noise shouldn’t be a concern. The only problem will be fixing it up – right now it’s empty except for a table and a couple chairs.”

“I doubt that will be much of a problem,” Xander snorted “I’m pretty sure ‘we want to make it nicer’ are practically magic words to elves.”


	33. Envinyatar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buffy and her friends make a space of their own in the library of Imladris.

Buffy looked around the room.

It seemed ridiculously large to her, but Lindir assured her that was only because it was empty. Aside from a small writing desk and a few chairs, what had once been a map room in the bygone days when Imladris fielded armies was heartlessly bare.

It had been a cross between a storage room and a spare workroom for the past few yeni, according to Erestor – who after giving Willow grudging permission for them to take over the space, had been only too happy to delegate Lindir to be the grown-up nominally in charge.

Buffy hadn’t contested the notion that she wasn’t a responsible adult. It wasn’t worth the fight.

Besides, as far as she was concerned, it worked out for the best. Lindir wasn’t as fussy as Erestor (or as suspicious of the general idea of Buffy and Xander being in or even near the library) and was fairly enthusiastic about the project once it was explained to him.

“Told you,” Xander whispered, grinning.

Buffy shushed him with a wave of her hand and roll of her eyes. Lindir was close enough that he could hear, and she didn’t care to explain about ‘magic words’. Truth be told, she sort of understood why her father’s advisor was so taken with their plan to turn this into a Scooby friendly space.

There had been a time when the valley of Imladris was home to enough elves to field an army counted in the tens of thousands. Her father’s home would have been a hive of activity in those days, a working headquarters housing not only him and his family, but dozens of advisors and commanders, their families, and retainers. Every room would have been in use.

The last army to march from Imladris had been several yeni before her birth, in the war against Angmar. Since then, the number of elves on the Hither Shores had been in steady decline. The elven settlements of Eriador were already nothing but memory; most of the smaller houses and villages that had once existed in Lindon had emptied.

Imladris, a major stronghold, concealed from unfriendly eyes and well-guarded, endured. Indeed, it had for a time actually grown, as elves who did not wish to depart Middle Earth sought security and the company of their own people. But it too was slowly dwindling as the lands once again grew shadowed. The few Noldor who remained had little stomach for yet another war against their ancient enemy, and even many Sindar and Avari were slowly waking up to the reality that whether the Shadow was defeated or not, the time of the elves was drawing to a close.

The Homely House had been known since its founding for hospitality, yet few were the elven visitors these days who intended to return to homes further east – their guests nearly all departed west, whether merely westward or truly West. Even since Buffy’s arrival in Middle Earth, she had seen elves leaving, passing through from the Greenwood, Lothlorien, or still further east, seeking the Havens and the grey ships.

The population of the valley was several thousand yet, but it was a far cry from its glory days, and no one expected the trend to reverse. The clearest proof that the days of Imladris were numbered was that Tindomiel was the only elfling in the valley, younger than the next youngest elf by more than three centuries.

Amid all that, it was increasingly rare to see something being revitalized and made new. Lindir was far more used to supervising the shutting up of houses in the valley after their former occupants departed for the Havens.

“Will we be able to find suitable furnishings for it, do you think?” Buffy asked anxiously.

She didn’t want their space to look like a college dorm, filled with curbside finds – not that elves had curbs, not in Imladris at least – and hand me downs that had seen better days several owners ago, but she also didn’t want anyone except maybe Xander to need to make new things for it. It was meant to be a space of their own, not one that they wanted or needed everyone to assist with.

“You will have your pick, young ones,” Lindir assured them with a smile. “I shall give you the list of disused dwellings in the valley, and you may check any or all of them for whatever you think may be of use to you. You will find most still furnished. You need only tell me which ones you visit when you are done, that I may close them up again properly.”

“People just left furniture?” Tara asked, surprised. “Won’t they need it in Aman?”

The other traded bemused glances. Buffy, now that she thought about it, realized the parties she had seen en route to Mithlond hadn’t usually had wagons, a necessity to transport anything as bulky as furniture. Most walked or rode, carrying very little. If it had occurred to her at the time, she would have thought they had simply sent their baggage on ahead.

Lindir shook his head.

“Most do not wish to burden the ships with large or bulky luggage unnecessarily. Unless it was something of great sentimental value, perhaps a piece they made themselves and were particularly fond of, furnishings and even paintings or hangings are generally left behind. They will find things just as fine or even better when they arrive, or make them if that is their desire. And in the case where furniture is packed to take on the ship, it is most often the bed, which you will not want in here.”

Xander cleared his throat.

“As the only carpenter in the group, I have to ask – if we have something specific in mind and can’t find anything reasonably close to it, can I make it?”

Lindir nodded, looking somewhat surprised that he felt the question necessary.

“Of course. If you do not know where to go for whatever wood you should desire, come to me and I can guide you. Or if you need help in smithcraft, as I believe you work in wood.”

At Xander’s nod, Lindir smiled.

“There are still several smiths in the valley who would be happy to assist, as they lack for unusual projects these days.”

He paused and looked around.

“I am most curious to see how you will arrange the room.”

Buffy smiled at the wistful note in his voice.

“We are, too,” she said. “I don’t think we really have a plan yet. We’ll see what we can find and go from there.”

\---

They looked over Lindir’s list and decided to start with the houses farthest away from the main Imladris complex. Though those houses had been abandoned the longest, they were also generally surrounded by other empty houses. Buffy didn’t want to upset anyone by poking through their neighbor’s things.

Her older brothers had laughed and pointed out that those were also the houses where she was least likely to find anything useful – when the first Imladrim had begun to leave, they had tended to pass belongings being left behind to friends and neighbors. Elves were not wasteful.

Tara had kept the peace between the children of Elrond by suggesting they could always call on the twins to go through Lindir’s list to point out more likely candidates if they found nothing in their first round of looking.  
With that compromise in place and the twins off to run messages to the Dunedain, Buffy and the Scoobies had set out with a small wagon to one of the now empty villages at the far end of the valley.

To their surprise, the houses were not as empty as the twins’ comments had led them to expect.

Buffy grinned.

“Remind me to thank Lindir when we get back,” she said brightly.

“Why? Oh…” Anya’s face turned smug. “Of course. He supervised the shutting up of all these houses, so he only gave you the ones that might be useful for what we wanted. He probably has another list somewhere with the emptied out ones.”

“Your brothers meant well,” Willow said firmly.

“Of course they did,” Xander snorted “But there just might be a few lingering issues there.”

Buffy raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

Xander shrugged.

“Am I really the only one who’s noticed that the brothers El get a bit possessive when it comes to their littlest sister?”

Buffy glared.

“Tindomiel is their littlest sister-“ she began.

A round of general laughter greeted that pronouncement.

“Losing battle, Buff,” Willow said gently. “Tindomiel’s not getting any shorter.”

“Neither am I!”

“It’s understandable,” Tara murmured, sticking with the original thread of the conversation. “It can’t be easy for them, having their missing baby sister suddenly show up with a whole new set of siblings.”

“We had plenty of quality bonding time in the Greenwood, not to mention the whole battle and heading home to face the music,” Buffy protested. “I didn’t even see you guys for nearly a year! And they’re what, twenty-eight hundred?”

“Definitely old enough to insist they’ve long since grown out of being jealous,” Anya agreed briskly. “Which is a total lie. You never grow out of it. You just learn to cover it better. Green with jealousy is a bad enough look on a teenager, but it’s pretty ridiculous on someone several hundred years old, never mind over a thousand.”

“What’s for them to be jealous about?” Willow asked in puzzlement. “We may be good friends, but as mortals, we’re still a blink of the eye in the life of an elf. In a hundred years or so, we’ll be gone. Buffy will be back to just her biological siblings. If they’re bothered, all they need is a little patience.”

Xander glanced at Buffy, who had become suspiciously absorbed in opening a sideboard as soon as Willow mentioned mortality.

“Maybe it’s not just that. I mean, it’s got to be weird for them to have to deal with people who know Buffy better than they do,” he offered. “They probably had trouble getting over thinking of her as an adorable little terror – toddler, I meant toddler!”

The stack of linens Buffy had just thrown at him hit the floor with a thump.

Willow and Tara snickered as Xander held up his hands in surrender.

“Hey, I’m your brother now too, I should get to tease you like one!” he pointed out. “You don’t beat on your older brothers like that! And honestly, the twins will probably get over it once they hang out with us more often.”

“That’s true,” Willow agreed. “They haven’t exactly had a lot of time around us as a group. They did their own thing in Lorien, sort of like they’re doing now.”

Buffy sighed as she bent to gather them back up.

“Ok, fine, there might be a little passive-aggressive brotherly jealousy there. But they’re outmaneuvered by Lindir this time,” she said. “We’ll find things – hey, like this!”

She held up the tapestry that had been folded carefully among the linens. Two trees, one silver like her father’s harp, the other a shade of gold that outshone her hair. It wasn’t large, but it would fit nicely over the door to their workroom.

It drew an appreciative chorus from the rest of the room. Tara reached out to take it, checking it carefully for any damage – more from being thrown than from being stored for several centuries – before rolling it neatly and slipping it into the pack she’d brought for any smaller items they might find.

Buffy tried not to let her thoughts linger on either Xander and Anya’s assessment that the twins were jealous or Willow’s matter of fact statement of mortality as they continued through the cluster of a dozen or so houses.

By the time it was getting dark, they felt pleased with their day’s work. Besides the tapestry, they’d found several bookrests, three intricately carved bookshelves, a few desks, a table that had probably once been meant for feasts but would make a good worktable and came with more than enough chairs to seat a Scooby war council around it, a few cozy chairs and a couch they’d decided was perfect for setting up near the fireplace that had almost started a fight over who got dibs. (The quarrel was only resolved by a fierce round of rock, paper, scissors in which Anya emerged triumphant.)

There was still one more house to check, which they elected to stay in overnight, taking their finds back in the morning before telling Lindir they were finished. They could have checked the houses in other parts of the valley, but as Xander remarked, why put Lindir through the extra work when they had nearly everything they wanted already?

As they lit a fire in a fireplace that had not been used for centuries, Buffy wandered upstairs, curious to see what the more private rooms in the house looked like. She came to a stunned halt in what must have been the master bedroom.

The tapestry still hanging on the wall was magnificent, so beautiful she could scarce believe that it was left behind. She might not have a practiced eye for craftwork, but even she could tell that this was someone’s masterpiece.

The forest looked so inviting, so realistic, that she had to touch it to convince her eyes that it was not real. She could almost hear the birds that were scattered here and there on the branches – or believe that the elves she could see in the distance might call out ‘mae govannen’ to her at any moment.

Looking around the room, she found the tapestry had been the centerpiece of its decoration – curtains and cushions alike had been embroidered to match the forest motif, and the standing candelabras in the corners had vines and flowers winding their way up them, reminding her for a moment of Nimloth’s crown. Even the carvings on the wooden furniture had been made to match.

“Hey, guys! Come up here, you have to see this!”

\---

Some days later, Celebrian was invited to view the progress they had made on their new library hangout.  
She tried not to smile at the sight of her daughter all but dancing in place, a mix of pride and nervousness as she awaited her mother’s opinion.

She nearly laughed out loud when she entered.

The table was Noldorin make, she saw at once, as were most of the practical ‘working’ pieces – bookshelves, escritoires, and so on. The children were accustomed to spending time in Giles’ domain, which had been a working research library, little though it might have looked it, so they had primarily sought to recreate what they knew, adding a few homier touches here and there. They had done rather well – she could see where the room would be both comfortable and practical.

The shelves were still sparse, as none of the children had the background yet to choose which books might be most appropriate for whatever research they might wish to undertake. Indeed, for Anariel, children’s primers were probably still the most useful books. She suspected that the volumes that did grace the shelves were some combination of Willow’s choices and Lindir’s assistance.

But none of that was what truly caught her attention. The room was dominated by the tapestry hanging by the carved fireplace, and the accents that had been chosen to go along with it – which, whether her daughter realized it or not, were all made by Sindarin elves who remembered Doriath. She could see where hands not quite elven in skill had added flourishes to some of the Noldorin pieces to bring them more into line with the Sindarin feel of the rest.

It worked surprisingly well. The little accents here and there that did not quite match, like the Two Trees above the door, which one would see only from within, merely served to highlight the overall effect.

In truth, the children’s library room was probably the closest one would come in these later days to invoking the spirit of Menegroth. Had this been done by any other elf, she might have called it nostalgia. For Anariel, it was simply a matter of taste – a taste which was certain to have Celeborn and Thranduil crowing when they heard.


	34. Burning The Midnight Oil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond wonders why his daughter is up so late.

Elrond was surprised to find his daughter alone in the library late one evening.

While he knew that she and her sworn siblings had taken to spending time in the space they had created within the library – they had sweet-talked Lindir into helping them transform a rarely used workroom meant for research into a comfortable space for themselves – he did not realize that Anariel was fond enough of books to be there alone. He had until now thought the attraction for her was the company.

A fond smile crept onto his face as he watched her through the half-open door. She was curled on one of the large cushions the children favored when they did not require a table, biting at her lip as she perused her chosen tome. He wondered if she was actually reading it.

Her lack of education was one of his many worries about his middle daughter. She was at least speaking Sindarin regularly now, but her words were only the start of the many, many things she lacked that most elves took for granted. Letters, history, geography- Anariel had much to catch up on.

While Celebrían assured him their middle daughter was not uneducated by the standards of the world she had come from, Anariel had known neither tengwar nor runes of any type found in Arda when she first returned to Imladris.

Her younger sister and several of her friends had made rapid progress in both literacy and fluency in Sindarin. To his distress, prior to her departure for Lothlorien, Anariel had not, despite the urgency of the matter.

The tongue she knew and spoke was properly called English but the rest of Imladris called it California for the strange land his wife and daughters had lived in. It was similar enough to Westron to be mutually intelligible if- and that was a sizable if – the children remembered to speak slowly, with proper grammar, and use only plain, what he understood to be by their standards old-fashioned words. Sadly, that was rarely the case.

Of the six children his wife had brought with her, Tara alone managed to consistently remember the restrictions on how to speak if hoping to be understood. Elrond suspected the others were perfectly happy to keep the “Scooby” variant of English as a private language unto themselves.

Erestor had been tasked with teaching them Sindarin, at Celebrían’s request and Elrond’s no less fervent plea. He would have liked to undertake it himself, but he could not realistically expect to fit the frequent, regular lessons the children needed into his busy schedule without neglecting other duties. Erestor had been dubious about his ability to teach those who had no experience of elven tongues or letters, but he had for the sake of their longstanding friendship agreed.

Results had been mixed.

Tindomiel and Willow had both taken to it at once. Tindomiel was simply a natural linguist, able to go from oh to oration in a matter of weeks. She’d already started on Quenya, taken to pestering Erestor about Vanyarin and Telerin, and would no doubt be working on Adûnaic before long. Willow was accustomed to having to learn new languages, as the world they had left behind had a great many magical traditions, most of which needed to be practiced in their original tongues. She was relieved to have a tutor, as previously she had always had to teach herself.

Tara and Anya lacked Tindomiel’s flair or Willow’s quick mind, but were both flexible enough to learn and determined enough to make progress, albeit at a slower rate. They also had prior experience with learning new languages, having worked magic in California as well, and were putting that experience to use as they learned the tongue most often used in Imladris.

Anariel and Xander had cheerfully declared themselves the dunces and brought up the figurative rear, often giving the impression they weren’t really trying at all.

Elrond had been frustrated by that, until Celebrían had explained to him that Anariel’s ideas of her own capabilities when it came to learning a new tongue were shaped by her frankly awful experience in the school she had attended in California. Elrond neither knew nor cared what French might be, but he was disturbed to hear what his beloved had to say on the subject.

Once she had enlightened him as to Anariel’s state of mind, he had borne her apparent lack of progress with much greater patience. He had been pleasantly surprised on joining the rest of his family in Lothlorien to discover that her Sindarin had improved much more than he had expected – and he had heard a few Noldorin words thrown in, though he doubted Anariel recognized the difference. He suspected that was Galadriel slyly ensuring her granddaughter had no possible basis for objecting to Quenya when the time came. There had also been several Doriathrin terms, mostly relating to weaponry, which had to be Celeborn’s doing.

Elrond still doubted the wisdom of declaring his daughter to be an adult, no matter how accurate his wife’s statement that the experience of adulthood could not be undone. While it might have been hundreds of years here in Middle Earth, Anariel had experienced only twenty. She might be a skilled warrior, but she knew far too little to go wandering around with only her brothers supervising. Even Thranduil had only limited success keeping her out of trouble, despite being a careful parent himself – and Elrond had heard something very close to ‘I told you so’ from Celebrían on that score.

In fact, his wife seemed quite confident he still hadn’t gotten the ‘full Buffy experience’ yet. That worried him – as did his daughter’s continuing attachment to the extraordinary name her mother had chosen for her in California. He had decided that it would stand as her mother-name. He has yet to reconcile himself to her epessë of Slayer, though he has to concede that it may be beyond his power to suppress, given to her in both worlds as it was. Those who hailed her as Anariel Dagnis after the Battle of Five Armies had not known that the title Slayer had been hers in California also.

He wondered if this midnight studying counted as part of the full Buffy experience.

Elrond was startled when a surprised sounding ‘oh, hi, Ada’ drifted out the door.

Anariel had noticed his presence.

She also sounded tired, which made him wonder all the more why she was here alone so late. There could be nothing so pressing it would not wait until morning. His youngest daughters were both still youthful enough in body to need more sleep than grown elves, and they slept more as Men do than as Elves. He could not tell if it was a lingering effect of their time in California, or some odd quirk of inheritance from their mannish forebears.

“Anariel, what are you doing here so late?” he asked.

His daughter’s eyes dropped almost guiltily, but she raised them again quickly, apparently deciding that she will tell him the full truth of whatever she was about.

“Practicing reading,” she said, holding out the book in explanation.

The text was simple- he was startled to see that of all the tomes in the library, she had unearthed one from his own youth. It was meant for children still learning to read and not yet ready for serious texts. A pretty tale of Valinor before the Darkening, it had been set down for him and his brother by Maedhros, in painstakingly careful letters plain enough for a learner to read, and illustrated by Maglor. It had been Elros’ favorite book for several years. Elrond had outgrown it more quickly, but kept it as much for who had made it as for who else had loved it.

He could see where it would be difficult reading for his daughter, though. While much of it was in Sindarin, intended for two children who had heard primarily Sindarin spoken around them despite having a half-Noldo father, Maedhros had flatly refused to translate the names, declaring the boys should learn the proper names of things, because names mattered.

It was a lesson Elrond has not forgotten.

His daughter paused, then asked in a rush, “Ada, what is _Laurelin_?”

He smiled, and opened the book to the correct page. He would have thought she knew already, given the tapestry that hung above the door, but perhaps that had been chosen simply for its beauty, and not for its content.

“That was,” he said quietly, pointing to the tree picked out in gold leaf. “The golden tree of Valinor. Your grandmother could tell you more of it, for she was born in the Years of the Trees and saw it many times in her youth, before it was destroyed. I know it only from books and descriptions from others. But we can see the echo of its light in the sun, which was made from the last fruit of Laurelin.”

“The sun is _anar_ ,” she said.

It was not quite a question, but he chose to treat it as one anyway.

“Yes, anar is _sun_ ,” he confirmed. He could not resist adding, “Which you know from your name.”

He hoped she knew what her name meant, but he wasn’t entirely sure.

She was quiet for a moment.

“Who named me?” she asked suddenly. “Why the sun?”

He was not sure why it mattered to her beyond mere curiosity, but he could feel she believed it was important. He was happy to tell the story either way, for it was a joyful memory- and one untouched by darkness.

“I named you,” he told her. “Your brothers and sister had both been born in the night, and the first light they beheld came from the stars. So naturally we expected that was how you would come to us as well. Much to our surprise, you were far too impatient for that and rushed into the world at midday.”

He could not help the fond smile that came to his face as he remembered the shock of the midwife that Celebrían’s labor had gone so quickly, and brought to mind tiny eyes looking around her so eagerly, no matter that they had to scrunch against the brightness. Celebrían’s bed faced a southern balcony, and sunlight was streaming into the room.

“Lindawen passed you to me to hold while she made your mother comfortable. You were looking at everything, but I thought that staring into the sun was not the best idea for a newborn, so I turned so that the sun would be behind you instead of you facing into it. And when I looked at you then, the light caught your hair and for a moment you were lit up so brightly I thought I was holding the sun itself.”

He could not resist brushing a lock of the hair that marked her as a descendant of Finarfin back from her face. The effect of the sunlight catching the pale fuzz of baby hair had been even more striking than it was to see the light in her hair these days.

“There could be no other name for you than Anariel after that.”

Her smile was no less dazzling for being so clearly exhausted. He pulled her into a warm embrace. He will never tire of hugging any of his daughters, especially not either of the two he still fervently thanks the Valar for returning to him.

“You are also like the sun in that you should not be abroad at this hour,” he sighed. “The circles under your eyes tell the tale all too plainly, little one– you should be reading less and sleeping more.”

She sighed.

“But I have to get better at reading… there’s so much to learn.”

Her eyes trailed to the shelves in the main library, and he could feel her thinking how many books there were, and some of them have knowledge she needs. He won’t pry into just what it is that she is so desperate to find, not yet at least.

“And so much time in which to learn it,” he replied gently.

His daughter may say that she believes her parents about the immortal span of elven lives, but her outlook was still very much that of a mortal allotted only a handful of years. She had yet to accustom herself to the lack of pressure to do things quickly before time and mortality claimed her.

“I am happy that you wish to learn, my daughter, but it is not so pressing that you cannot sleep.”

He could feel that she wanted to argue the point, but he preempted her. He was a healer as well as a father, and the sleep she has been forgoing – regularly since arriving home, if he is any judge of the matter – was taking its toll on her.

“You may tell me all about why it is so urgent. In the morning. For now, you may walk to your bed, or I will make up for missed opportunities and carry you.”


	35. Grey Hairs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glorfindel is still not used to Buffy.

The next morning, Elrond was unsurprised when Glorfindel complained that Anariel was late for her morning training session. Normally for such a complaint, he would have given Glorfindel permission to haul the offender out of bed – especially since his captain of the guard was not only the most experienced warrior in Imladris, but also kin to Celebrían and his children – but he made an exception this time.

“She has been pushing herself too hard,” he told Glorfindel. Registering the concern on the older elf’s face, he hastened to add, “Do not worry, it is no doing of yours. We will allow her to sleep herself out today, and after this I shall start sending her brothers to chase her out of the library at a reasonable hour if I am not available to do so myself.”

“The library?” Glorfindel asked in bemusement, clearly surprised to hear that was the problem. “I would have expected that of Tindomiel or Willow, not Anariel.”

“That is two of us, my friend,” Elrond admitted ruefully. “I mean to ask her later today just what is so urgent that she is driving herself so hard – and without asking any of us for help.”

Glorfindel frowned, following Elrond’s logic immediately.

If it were only about learning to read, Anariel could ask any elf in Imladris to aid her. Well, any elf except Erestor, whose patience had been sorely tried by her nearly non-existent progress before to her trip to Lorien – though even he might thaw if someone were to let slip that the child had been forgoing sleep to remedy her previous lack of effort.

That she had not asked betokened something more, perhaps something more worrisome. Glorfindel was all too aware that both Elrond and Celebrían worried that their littlest daughter was not cautious enough about the dangers of Middle Earth. Nor had they been the only ones concerned by her role in the Battle of Five Armies.  
But having heard a few of her tales of California, he rather thought what her parents perceived as lack of caution was more that Anariel was simply unused to having more than a handful of friends to rely on, while being wholly accustomed to bearing the weight of any danger or threat to her people. In that desire to protect, she was every bit a prince of the Noldor.

The more he thought on it, in fact, the less Glorfindel liked where his thoughts led. From what he gathered, in California Anariel had also learned not to expect much assistance from most adults – which was the complete opposite of her current situation, surrounded by grown elves who would aid her in any endeavor.

The sole bright spot that he could see was that at least the girl did wholeheartedly trust her older brothers, and would likely approach them if she thought she needed aid. Arwen he thought she might also trust, but having not seen her older sister handle sword or bow yet, Anariel would not necessarily expect her to be of help in dealing with most threats.

Anariel did not appear until afternoon, but when she did she was clearly ready for training. She was also, for a wonder, answering to her given name – not the mannish one – for the second day in a row. Glorfindel made a mental note to ask Elrond if he had any idea what was behind this sudden change in attitude. Hitherto, she would answer to Anariel only if it was her parents or older siblings speaking. To all others, she would insist that she was Buffy, with a stubborn immovability not unlike several of her forefathers.

While he knew Elrond meant to enquire about his daughter’s motivation, Glorfindel had been supervising Anariel’s education in the art of combat long enough to realize that she would probably answer him without even thinking about it if the question were posed during a sparring session. He had already discovered that unlike most elves, she liked talking while fighting. Bizarrely, she seemed to delight in the juxtaposition of wordplay with swordplay.

So he waited until they were well into a training match before starting in on his questions. If Elrond weren’t lurking somewhere just out of sight as he’d taken to doing more often than not since Anariel stopped holding back, then Glorfindel would simply relay whatever he might learn to him later.

“So, Anariel, what is this I hear about late nights in the library?”

“ _Jeez_ , did ada tell the whole world about that?” she asked, mildly irritated – though he couldn’t tell if it was for her father telling others her doings, or for his attempt to trip her.

He was also not sure what exactly her first word meant, but he’s learned to let the occasional California word go now that she mostly used Sindarin. Her command of the language had been coming on by leaps and bounds since Glorfindel realized that she could train her tongue at the same time as her sword arm.

“I hardly count as the whole world,” he replied mildly. “Elrond was merely explaining why I should not roust you out of bed as I would have your brothers had they been late for training this morning.”

“Oh-” a slashing upwards blow that nearly caught him unaware- “I guess that’s fair. Yeah, I’m trying to catch up to everyone else on the literacy front. But it’s confusing. I thought I was making progress, and then I realized there’s a whole ‘nother language I’m going to need to learn, because the older books aren’t written in Sindarin.”

Glorfindel paused before answering, mostly because he was trying to keep up with her unorthodox footwork, which he would like to improve if he could only work out what exactly it was she was doing, because it matched no form he has ever seen. He’d think she were making it up as she went except that she never tripped herself up.

“Yes, the older volumes would be written in Quenya,” he agreed. “The Sindar tend to put everything into song, it was the Noldor who preferred books. You’re dropping that shoulder again! But why would you need the older volumes?”

She shrugged – which was impressive, given that he had just launched an attack that her brothers would probably have yielded to and she was parrying at the same time.

“Old books usually wind up being more useful when you’re looking up lore,” she said, rolling easily under a stroke he’d expected to connect. “At least, they were in California, and I expect they will be here, too. It’s like a law of the universe or something.”

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” Glorfindel asked, trying to keep his attention on both her and the conversation. He was not sure how she did this so easily, and had started to wonder about the methods of her masters in that other world that she learned to fight like a champion while talking _the entire time_. He has begun to think nothing short of a balrog will stop her joking around during a fight. Perhaps not even that.

“Well, to start with, I want to know more about rings.”

Glorfindel blocked her blow, then tapped the ground with a fist, indicating he was calling time. He felt the beginning of a headache coming on, because he had a bad feeling about where this was going.

“Anariel.”

He paused.

“What do you want with rings?” he asked, his tone one that usually warned the warriors of Imladris – even her older brothers at their most reckless – that they tread on dangerous ground.

Her eyes met his easily, entirely unintimidated.

“I want to know more about Bilbo’s ring. It’s definitely not of the good, and I don’t want to wait around for it to do something bad to him,” she explained. “So I’m trying to find out what it is, and how to destroy it if I need to.”

Glorfindel knew a little more about rings than she did, more than enough to know that Elrond would want his daughter nowhere near them. Especially if – Valar forbid – she should get the notion in her head that her halfling friend had found the One Ring. He wouldn’t put it past her to go traipsing off to try to destroy it. Worse still, he was certain that if she did, her mortal brother and sisters would encourage her.

Celebrian will hit the roof if Anariel goes running off on another adventure, particularly if it’s a poorly planned one bound to get her into a worse situation than at Erebor. They needed to go find Elrond, immediately. He didn’t want this idea lingering without someone with parental authority telling her categorically that she was _not_ to touch the ring, no matter what she thinks it is.

Glorfindel wondered privately if this was what Uncle Arafinwë had in mind when he had begged him before his return to Middle Earth to look out for his ‘baby’ cousin. Galadriel was no trouble at all – she’s been looking after herself quite well since before the War of Wrath. It was her grandchildren that insisted on doing their level best to see if elves could get grey hairs as the Edain do.

“Come, pitya,” he sighed. “Let’s go find your father. You might as well explain it fully just the once, and I know he will have words for you on this subject.”


	36. No Rings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond makes some simple rules for Buffy to follow.

When Xander bounced into the library hangout, he was unsurprised to see he was the last one to arrive. The surprise was finding Buffy looking disgruntled, with Willow soothing her.

“Hey, party people, you will all be happy to hear that while we can’t have a white board, the glass dude said that making large panes of glass that we can mount on the walls is totally a thing that we can do,” he announced cheerfully. “Tara seemed pretty confident that they can work out some plant-based dyes that will wipe away clean, although we might need to settle for wet erase instead of dry erase. She’s working with Ivranil now to draw up a test plan for several different formulas that might suit.”

Willow smiled at the confidence placed in her betrothed. They’d decided to settle matters elven style, with a year-long engagement followed by a formal ceremony. The only real question was when Anya and Xander would follow suit.

“So,” Xander concluded, “In a week or so, we should have glass erase boards. And I think I’ve figured out a way we can mount maps and papers underneath so we can write over them- without having to take the glass down every time.”

The Scoobies had slowly been making the hangout room a working research room. Working by their standards, that was, meaning erasable writing surfaces among other things.

Besides the comfortable chairs, sofa, and cushions strewn around the room – which, with the exception of the fairly constant grouping around the fireplace, were frequently rearranged to meet the demands of whoever happened to be in the room at the time – they had a table large enough for all of them, plus Buffy’s brothers and sisters, to sit around comfortably. The cork board Xander made to pin things up on had come with a caution from both Lindir and Erestor about not pinning up old maps, new copies only.

Without copy machines, and none of them having developed the incredibly accurate hand copying skills the archivists of Imladris seemed to possess, Willow had rigged up a light box that would let them trace copies of maps and diagrams. She had occasionally remarked wistfully that she should have brought a printer to go with her laptop, but in general they were coping fairly well with the lack of technology.

Xander had taken charge of project Dry Erase when no one liked the idea of a chalk board, Middle Earth's current cutting edge in erasable writing surfaces. (“I miss chalk dust… said nobody ever,” had been Anya’s comment, which had pretty much closed that discussion.) Whiteboards were not a feature of Middle Earth, but they were willing to settle for something reasonably close.

“Why the less than cheerful Buff?” Xander asked.

Buffy’s look of frustration increased, and Willow shot him a reproving look.

“Glorfindel asked me what I’ve been trying to work up to researching, and when I told him, he dragged me off to Ada, and I am not allowed to do anything about it,” she told him morosely.

“Did they at least leave you any loopholes?” Xander asked wisely.

Buffy shook her head glumly.

“I’m not allowed to touch the ring,” she muttered.

Before Xander could suggest anything, she started ticking off restrictions.

“I’m not allowed to ask Bilbo about the ring, I’m not allowed to borrow the ring, I’m not allowed to take the ring anywhere, I’m not allowed to accompany the ring anywhere, I’m not allowed to get any of you to do any of that for me, and I’m not even allowed to talk about rings outside of Imladris or Lorien, or even those places if there are outsiders other than Mithrandir or Cirdan around, because we don’t want anyone else thinking about rings. In fact, the word ‘ring’ officially does not exist in my vocabulary in any language, even ‘California’.”

Xander let out an impressed whistle.

“Really covered all the bases, didn’t they?”

Willow nodded.

“It’s almost like the twins have tried the ‘loophole’ angle before,” she said with a barely suppressed giggle.

“Oh, I’m sure they have,” Buffy grumbled. “I didn’t recognize the advantages of being the oldest while I still had them! I always thought Dawn got away with everything, but I didn’t realize that when you’re the younger one, someone else has already demonstrated how to work the angles.”

In fact, it had been made explicit by her father that the twins had done just that on quite a few occasions, which was why he’d also added an all-encompassing ‘or any other way you think you’ve found to get around what we just discussed’ rider. She was well and truly stuck for it. She and Bilbo’s ring were pretty much banned from being in the same zip code. Or would be if elves had zip codes.

“Didn’t you explain how important you thought it was?” Willow asked sympathetically, judging that between her previous listening ear and Xander, Buffy had gotten the ranty part out of her system.

“I tried,” Buffy replied dejectedly. “Ada nodded, and said I raised some good points, and that he’d send word to Mithrandir that he should come to Imladris, but the way wizards are, who knows how long it’ll be before he gets the message, let alone gets here. And he’ll probably agree with Ada.”

“Didn’t they learn their lesson on giving the bad guy time to plan at Dol Guldur?” Xander wondered.

“Sort of,” Buffy said doubtfully.

“Sort of in the ‘not really’ way?” Willow clarified.

“Something like that,” Buffy sighed. “I mean, I get that elves aren’t mortal, so no rush on most things, but the Big Bad isn’t mortal either, so time’s not on anybody’s side here.”

“Actually, wouldn’t time be on the Big Bad’s side?” Anya asked, abruptly poking her head up from the couch by the fireplace, where she had been reading a volume of poetry. “Elves are leaving Middle Earth, while Men are scattered across several kingdoms and not exactly noted for acting together. So, forces of elvedom dwindling, forces of men dispersed, forces of darkness gathering and consolidating.”

“Which should make investigating Bilbo’s ring more urgent, not less,” Buffy agreed. “You’d think that, but I’ve been told that I’m still thinking like a mortal. Although, I did manage to winkle out of them that rings have bad mojo, and maybe even a will of their own. So not just anyone can carry them around.”

Anya frowned.

“Did they forbid you from keeping a watch to make sure Bilbo doesn’t suddenly run away to parts unknown?” she asked shrewdly. “That’s technically nothing to do with the ring, or investigating the ring. And if the ring really does have power, Hobbiton doesn’t sound like someplace it’s going to want to stay. Happy little farmers and local shopkeepers don’t offer much for it to work with.”

Buffy considered it. Anya had a point. It wasn’t exactly trying to get around what her father and cousin had discussed. And Bilbo had brought several chests of treasure back from his adventure besides the ring, so she could reasonably argue concern for his welfare, making sure that he wasn’t being robbed… especially since that excuse had already worked for her once.

She nodded.

“I think that might fly,” she said slowly. “The only question would be how to set the watch without it being us doing it. The Shire is too far for me to go until Mom decides I’m ungrounded.”

“I would think the Dunedain might be useful,” came a new voice, speaking Westron.

Buffy blinked. Up until now, her brothers had shown only polite interest in the alteration to the library workroom. Yet here they were.

“May we come in, little sister?” Elrohir asked, half mischief and half serious.

Buffy shrugged.

“Sure, why not? It’s not a top-secret clubhouse.”

“We overheard a certain former Lord of Gondolin explaining to our mother what crazy ideas her middle daughter gets, and it occurred to us that you might need some help,” Elladan continued, looking around curiously.

“Yes, and our help comes with the benefit that getting us to help you was _not_ on adar’s list of ‘you may not’,” Elrohir pointed out with an impish grin. “I think he is not yet used to making those restrictions for anyone but us.”

“Do I owe you a favor or something?” Buffy asked cautiously.

Elrohir mimed being struck in the chest by an arrow, while Elladan shook his head in mock disappointment.

“Such suspicion in one so young, brother,” he sighed. “These are dark times indeed. Yes, you will owe us a favor. Though not a very large one. The Dunedain will soon be coming and going more often, and we share your concern about Master Baggins.”

Elrohir nodded.

“If you wish to repay us, we would like to be there for the meeting with Mithrandir. Though we do not doubt you would relay the proceedings to us afterward, it would be nice to hear things first hand.”

Buffy nodded. That should be doable. And if her brothers were on her side for this, they might be allies when she argued her case to the wizard. At the very least, they’d be good observers, and might catch details she missed.

“Fair enough.”

Her brothers grinned.

“We will just mention the little matter of the Shire needing eyes kept on it on our next trip,” Elladan said. “Which will be in a fortnight.”

With a cheerful wave and one last curious glance around the recently altered room, the twins departed.

Buffy glanced at the other three to find Anya smirking appreciatively, though it was a toss-up whether she was appreciating the exploitation of loopholes or the twins’ butts.

“As the other resident bad influence,” Xander spoke up, “I should just point out that you’re also not forbidden from researching. Somehow your dad overlooked that.”

Buffy rolled her eyes.

“Of course he did. Because as long as I want to research, I have to work on _reading_.”

She tossed another book Dawn had helpfully pointed out as being good for beginners at him – a Sindarin one with no Quenya words to trip them up– and picked up her own copy.

“Let’s go, study buddy o’ mine.”

The rest of the women laughed at Xander’s heartfelt groan.


	37. The Loremasters

Elrond paused before entering Anariel’s library workroom. Though in her eyes, it belonged to both her and her mortal siblings equally, most of Imladris called it hers – for it would not be long as elves reckoned it before that would be the reality, and other elves had experience enough of such mortal deaths to know that it would not help her to change how they named it once the loss occurred.

Anariel was not within, but that was as well, for today it was Willow he wished to speak with.

The children had, in outfitting their workroom, imported several ideas from California, some of which had surprised the Imladrim. The ‘glass board’ for writing on, for instance. At first, it had puzzled the elves they had approached for help what they sought to create and why. But once it was explained, the Imladrim had marveled that mortals had invented such a clever way to save paper. That was not typical of the elves’ experience with the Aftercomers, who more often behaved as though Ennor’s bounty was endless and could be used as they pleased with little thought for the future.

The glass board was not an exact recreation of the California device, but the children found it adequate to their needs – and in the case of being able to annotate maps and other existing materials pinned under the glass, actually better. Tindomiel had been so pleased with it that she had requested one for her own study. But both Tindomiel and Anariel had waved off the idea that the craftsmen and women of Imladris could experiment with materials until they recreated the one that had been used in the other world.

Anariel had dismissed the extra effort as more trouble than it was worth. It was Tindomiel who had taken the time to clarify that some of the materials used in making the ‘white boards’ they were used to were toxic. But based on her description, some of the artisans of Imladris were experimenting with porcelain to see if they might not find an acceptable substitute for the small portable boards his youngest had described being used for lessons in writing and mathematics.

The children had also spoken of other devices taken for granted in California, particularly those for the reproduction of written works and pictures. Willow’s ingenious device for the copying of diagrams and maps had been of great interest to the Imladrim, and there had been a fairly steady stream of visitors to the library to view not only what she termed the ‘ _light box_ ’ but also the ‘ _old school projector_ ’.

The function of the device was clear enough – through the use of light and mirrors, a text or image placed under it could be reproduced on a wall or other blank surface. But the name puzzled Elrond greatly - the last word was one they had yet to find a suitable translation for, and he could not for the life of him understand what ‘school’ had to do with it, at least not unless he had misunderstood what a _school_ was.

But what truly fascinated Elrond, and brought him to the workroom this morning, was the chance to finally examine Willow’s laptop, which she had explained held many books. According to her, while it had the capacity to hold as many volumes as the entire library of Imladris, she had not had time to transfer that many books onto it before departing California. But she had managed to bring a good number of the most important ones, works any educated person in that world would have been expected to know. Elrond had been somewhat disappointed that she had focused more on literature than history, and puzzled all the more that his middle daughter and her mortal siblings did not seem to regret the lack.

He did find it reassuring that Willow and Anariel had already taken counsel with Erestor on how to preserve the knowledge contained within Willow’s laptop, for they were painfully aware that the device would not last forever. Celebrían had told him privately that she would be surprised if it still functioned by the end of its second decade. Tindomiel had begun copying out the most important works in her spare time. She had also been pestering Xander to help with the transcription of the songs.

For it was not only books, but also music that could be stored on the laptop. Elrond had not had time before now to examine the machine closely, but Willow had told him that if he came to the library this afternoon, he could have as long as he wanted to study the device and its contents.

For Elrond, both were equally fascinating, though for different reasons. The device itself offered an example of California technology, and perhaps some insight into how the children were used to living.

Celebrían had been able to give him some basic explanation of the machine – the most interesting part was that it depended on the sun to function – but she had assured him Willow was the most technically adept of any of them, and could go into far greater detail. According to her, Willow would likely have been quite at home among the Noldor.

As for the contents of the device, what loremaster would not seize the opportunity to learn all he could of the culture of a different world?

Willow looked up expectantly at the sound of the door opening, and greeted him with a cheery, “Well met, Lord Elrond!”

He sighed inwardly.

“Well met, Willow. You really do not need to give me any title in private,” he replied, hoping that perhaps this time the idea would take.

His wife was “Nana” to the children she had borne, and “Celebrían” to all the mortal children, but he had yet to convince the ones from California that they could be so informal with him. He supposed it helped that they had already looked on Celebrían as a mother figure even before their transition to Arda. Elrond was doing his best not to take it personally that he had yet to achieve a better rapport with them. They might not be his by blood, but he of all people knew that it was not blood that determined family. He wanted them to feel as at ease with him as they were with his wife.

Willow had already set the laptop out on the table, and she pushed the button that turned it on as she waved him to seat himself in front of it.

“I’m really not sure what you want to see first,” she told him. “I tried to bring as many major works as I could.”

She was at least not nervous. Elrond could tell, as he was already well acquainted with her tendency to talk at great length and speed when nervous.

“Works such as those of Shake-Spear?” Elrond asked. It was one of the few writers’ names he had been able to mark, as it could be translated directly.

While some California names could be easily rendered into Sindarin, and even sounded like they could have been eldar themselves, such as Swift, Potter, or Wild, many could not. The names of California were usually not normal words, and the children could often not even guess as to the meanings. It had led to some humorous discussions, as they argued amongst themselves as to whether a particular name had a recognizable meaning. (It transpired that one writer’s name was an antiquated word for two, and another’s had sparked a fierce debate as to whether or not it was a type of fish. There had been no resolution, for none of them had thought to bring a dictionary.)

In general, it was primarily Willow and Tara who recognized such things. Anya had been of help with the names that came from remote regions of California, explaining that one author’s name meant Plump, another Sneezy. Anariel professed to be learning as much as her father from the discussions on how to translate names. Tindomiel had been taking notes, with a view toward someday writing a treatise on the languages of California.

“Oh, definitely!” Willow agreed. “Shakespeare is one of the most important authors – not recognizing his work would be like not recognizing… Dareon, I suppose, or Elemmírë!”

“Yet his works are not songs,” Elrond said, trying to fix it in his mind. Setting aside the curiosity of a loremaster, he wished to know more of the culture that was so familiar to his daughter and her mortal brethren. They were wont to pepper their speech with references that would no doubt make sense to others raised in California, but more often than not only puzzled the Imladrim.

“No, although I guess you could sing the poetry if you wanted to,” Willow told him. “I’m sure some of the sonnets must have been set to music over the years. But most of Shakespeare’s major works are plays, meant to be performed for an audience.”

“Do you not have famous songs?” Elrond asked curiously. The Eldar tended to put more emphasis on song than on plays.

“Yes, but I don’t know if it’s quite the same kind of song,” Willow replied pensively. “Our culture doesn’t really do epic saga or song anymore, nothing like the Lay of Luthien or the Noldolantë. But there’s lots of music that’s well known, and plenty of songs that most people would be able to sing along to.”

She traced her finger over the small depression in the foremost panel of the laptop, causing the small arrow on the screen to move. A new box popped up on the part she called the screen, and music began to play. It was instrumental, and while it was not of the style of the Eldar, Elrond thought most elves would appreciate it. It was beautiful, but with a bittersweet, almost mournful quality. He felt there was also a note of yearning in it that would resonate with Exiles in particular.

“That’s the work of a composer called Beethoven,” Willow explained. “I’m afraid I don’t know what the name means, it’s one of the ones I can’t even guess at. But he’s one of the best known classical composers. He lived about two hundred years ago. That’s a good example of instrumental music. This piece is called the Moonlight Sonata. Nearly everyone would recognize it, even if they couldn’t name it.”

She pushed the button again, and the music changed completely.

“This is something we would sing along to,” she said.

Elrond cocked his head to one side, trying to catch the words being sung. He caught the repetition of ‘love’ with no problem, and to his surprise was able to make out most of the verse. He wondered if Willow had deliberately picked a song that would be simple for him to follow.

“That was a very well-known group called the Beatles,” Willow told him. “Their music was played all over the world. They’re more modern, about our parents’ age. Well, my parents and Xander’s, anyway. I guess Celebrían is a little older than they were…”

“What of music that would be contemporary to you and your peers?” Elrond asked curiously.

The music that played when Willow pressed the button this time was like nothing he had ever heard before. It was fast paced, to the point that he was unable to make out most of the words. Not only did he not understand it, even Willow’s attempt at explaining didn’t help much.

“Um, kryptonite is a made-up substance,” she began tentatively, sounding as if she was trying to puzzle out the best explanation as she spoke. “It’s from a story about a hero called Superman- which is fiction, so not real, just made up- and it’s something that makes him lose his powers. He could fly, and was stronger than any human, actually probably even stronger than elves, and..”

She trailed off, apparently unsure how to continue.

“What does this made up substance have to do with the rest of the song?” Elrond asked in bewilderment.

At Willow’s expression, he waved the question away.

“Do not feel you must give what is a long and involved explanation for a simple song,” he told her soothingly. “I am not demanding a critical analysis. I only wished to hear music that would be something you and my daughters would know.”

He paused.

“What of the song of…” he paused, trying to remember the name he had heard Tindomiel mention. “In The An of Jones?”

At Willow’s hastily smothered giggle, he knew he had not gotten it right.

“Indiana Jones,” she repeated, once she had gotten herself under control, enunciating clearly and speaking slowly enough that he could hear the difference.

Elrond made sure to note the pronunciation, to be sure of saying it correctly in front of his daughters should the occasion arise.

“Jones is a common family name, and Indiana is a region of California,” Willow told him, with an interesting pause before California.

Elrond did understand, even if other elves overlooked it, that California was properly only a very small region of the world Willow had been born in. So Indiana was probably a completely different region than the one called California.

“Indiana Jones is another hero,” she explained. “But not from songs…”

She trailed off, looking uncertain and even a little troubled, before walking over to a shelf that held several cloth-covered cases. She extracted one, and opened it. Inside were pages of colorful circles, each with a hole in the middle.

“We have a thing called _movies_ ,” she explained. “It’s like a play, but it’s been recorded so that we can watch it over and over. Indiana Jones is a character who learns about ancient cultures, but also finds their treasures and keeps them away from people who want to misuse them. But I don’t know how much of those stories you would understand, because they depend on knowing the history and culture to begin with- if you don’t have some basic knowledge, they won’t make much sense.”

Elrond had the distinct feeling there was more to it than that, but he saw no reason to push – he felt no lie in her words, and was certain she meant to discuss the matter with Anariel. Not for the first time, he wondered if Tindomiel might be more forthcoming about the history of California.

“Is there a _movie_ I might understand?” Elrond asked, noting Willow’s hand was hovering over one circle in particular.

Willow smiled as she slipped the circle from its protective casing, and put it shiny side down into a tray that slid out from the laptop.

“Several, actually. But I think you might want to start with this one.”

Elrond watched in amazement as the picture on the screen began to move, and he suddenly understood why they called it a movie. A boy was sitting on a bed, manipulating what looked to be a cruder version of a laptop, and an older man had come to visit him.

“The scenery at the very beginning might be a little confusing,” Willow continued. “Although it would help a little if you’re trying to understand how we lived in California. But it’s not important to the main story. Buffy and Tindomiel really like this one. It’s called ‘The Princess Bride’.

As the movie continued and the scene changed to something less unfamiliar, Willow added, “If you press this button, you can pause the movie to ask questions.”

“You expect I will have questions?” Elrond asked, somewhat amused.

“I’d be more surprised if you didn’t,” Willow replied with a smile.

\---

Later that evening, Elrond gathered Celebrían and their children in the library. Willow had persuaded him that watching movies could be a family activity – and then connived with Anya to make sure that all five mortal children were elsewhere.

Elrond would have been happy to include Estel in this, but Willow had predicted he would need to spend the entire movie asking for translations and explanations, where the twins would be able to keep up using osanwë to get explanations from Anariel as needed. She promised that Estel would get an introduction to movies another day, with a movie picked with him in mind. Tara had enlisted his help to bake cookies instead, so he would be unaware he had missed anything.

The twins looked curious as they leaned against the couch, where their youngest sister was snuggled happily with her mother. Anariel chose to sit on the floor with her older brothers.

“I have learned today that ‘movie night’ is a tradition of California,” he told them.

The twins looked faintly curious. Celebrían smiled.

“I thought we might try it," Elrond continued. "Willow has not only agreed to allow us the use of her laptop tonight, she also suggested a movie she thought we would all enjoy.”

The girls’ faces brightened when they saw the screen.

Elrond was somewhat surprised – but not as baffled as he would have been a few hours earlier – when his daughters replied in unison.

“As you wish!”

 

Note: For anyone curious, Willow’s projector is NOT the boxy, huge overhead projector seen in many American classrooms prior to document cameras and Smartboards- those depended on light passing through transparent sheets. It is more along the lines of a Dux Episcop.


	38. The History Lesson

It was a merry group occupying the library workroom. All the children of Elrond – including Estel and the Scoobies – were spread out around the space.

Buffy had begun studying elvish history with her brothers not long after her return to Imladris. At first it had been just the three of them, but Tindomiel had quickly decided that her siblings’ arguments about battle strategies, interpretation of history, the reliability of accounts, and pretty much everything else were far too much fun to miss.

She had come to that conclusion after walking in on yet another round of Anariel vs the gwenyn on the subject of Maeglin and Gondolin. Her sister had been holding her own in a debate on how trustworthy Pengolodh’s account was.

“How can you expect me to take Pengolodh at face value?” Anariel had been demanding scornfully. “Not only does he speak authoritatively about incidents he can’t possibly know the truth of, which makes everything else he says suspect, he’s basically throwing all the dirt he can at both Maeglin and Salgant in the hopes that something will stick! He even calls Salgant fat. He’d probably try ugly too, if that wouldn’t be completely beyond belief.”

Tindomiel had been a part of every study session since.

To her brothers’ irritation, she sometimes took her sister’s part in arguments, and occasionally added objections of her own that hadn’t occurred to Anariel.

She had just finished reading aloud an account of the Oath of Fëanor, which would not ordinarily be hilarious, except that she had taken to reading Fëanor’s part in the voice of one of the cartoons Xander was fond of showing. (This had started because Fëanor’s insistence on the use of Þ had reminded Tindomiel of the character’s habit of declaring his arch-enemy “despicable”. Except the way he said it sounded more like “desthpicable”.)

The twins were doing their best to look disapproving, but Xander, Anariel, and Anya were all laughing openly, as “death shall we deal them ere day’s ending” was simply not something they could take seriously when rendered in the style of Daffy Duck.

Willow and Tara were smiling, and even Estel was grinning. Since being included in the group study, he had been enjoying learning of the First Age far more than he’d expected to, and was beginning to rather regret that his lessons on the history of the Edain in the Third Age were normally handled by Erestor in one on one tutorials.

“Honestly though,” Tindomiel asked scornfully, setting the book back on the table in front of her “how under the stars did Uncle Butthead ever expect to fulfill that Oath? Even without the Doom?”

Elrohir sighed.

“Little one,” he said in a voice of great patience, “while your objection to his course of action is understandable, dare I suggest you find some other name for grandmother’s half-uncle?”

“As unless he is confined to Mandos for all time, you will someday meet him,” Elladan continued. “At which point, I imagine he will be remarkably unamused with his new epessë. Nothing we have ever heard or read about him suggests he possesses a sense of humor.”

Anariel snorted.

“Actually, my money’s on him being grounded in Mandos permanently,” she said. “I mean, reason and logic are not his strong points, but sticking to his guns kinda is.”

“What are _guns_?” Estel asked.

“They’re a weapon sort of like trebuchets,” Tindomiel replied instantly. “Sticking to your guns means not backing down or surrendering.”

She’d gotten quite good at fielding the young adan’s requests for translations or clarifications. More to the point, she rarely had to stop to think about what parts of California to leave out, like firearms.

“You’re not helping,” Elrohir said, with a glare at his middle sister for good measure.

Xander shrugged.

“I don’t know, I’d say they have a point,” he said thoughtfully. Turning to the twins, he continued, “But then again, so do you. Tinu, getting killed by Uncle Butthead would probably be bad. And unless his long timeout gave him a dose of sanity, he’s crazy enough to actually do it.”

Tindomiel rolled her eyes.

“Whatever. Odds are he’s as self-centered as ever and sulking about still not getting his way.”

“His shiny rocks, you mean,” Buffy said with a frown. “I would understand it if Morgoth had taken one of his kids, but who kills people over stones?”

“The Silmarilli were not jewels as you know them, nethig,” Elladan explained patiently. “They contain the only remaining light of the Trees. That is why Yavanna herself asked Fëanor to yield them to her.”

To everyone’s surprise, her frown only deepened.

“Yes, but I do not know that that was right either,” Buffy said thoughtfully. “Yavanna could make the Two Trees once only. So she should have understood that Fëanor could make the Silmarils once only. It would have been generous beyond all things had he offered them to her. But to demand them of him?”

There was a sudden silence in the room, as the twins had nothing to say to that. No elf had ever before questioned the rightness of Yavanna’s actions in the wake of the destruction of the Trees.

“What then of the Silmarilli?” Estel piped up. “How would you dispose of them?”

Buffy blinked.

“They are not mine to dispose of,” she replied, sounding almost puzzled by the question. “Fëanor has done much that was wrong, but I do not see where that makes his creations any less his own.”

“That line of reasoning grows awkward quickly, little one,” Elladan pointed out. “Remember, though one was given to the Sea and another to the Earth, our grandfather Eärendil bears the third – which our grandmother was willing to die rather than surrender to the Kinslayers.”

“As to that, I do not know,” she replied. “I did not propose to solve all the knottiest problems of Arda. I was only pointing out that Fëanor’s claim to the work of his own hands was reasonable.”

Tindomiel folded her arms across her chest and pinned her older sister with her sternest look.

“You cannot stand Uncle Butthead,” she announced flatly. “You think he’s the most selfish dumbass in the history of ever. So why are you sticking up for him?”

Buffy shrugged.

“I am not saying the way he went about retrieving his stuff was reasonable,” she said defensively. “Only that he was right that they were his.”

Tindomiel harrumphed.

“If you take up defending Curufin or Celegorm next, you’re disowned,” she said flatly.

Buffy looked insulted.

“There are limits!” she exclaimed, sounding scandalized. “Seriously, _Curufin_? That slimy, scuzzy…”

She stopped, looking distinctly put out, as she’d run out of adequate Sindarin vocabulary for what she wanted to say and everyone knew it.

“Estel, cover your ears,” she ordered.

“No, Estel, don’t!” Xander laughed. “She can either teach you how to cuss properly in Scooby, or she can keep it clean.”

“Or she could learn how to say it in Sindarin,” Elladan muttered.

“Well, as long as we’re taking contrary positions,” Elrohir piped up, an unholy glee lighting his eyes, “I challenge you to say one good thing about that slimy, scuzzy, whatever you were about to call him.”

Now it was Buffy’s turn to roll her eyes.

“Easy, he fathered Celebrimbror, who aside from one tiny little misjudgement in craft projects, was brilliant and meant no harm to anyone. Also, I suppose his mother liked him.”

Then her expression turned mischievous.

“If we’re issuing challenges, I challenge Elrohir to say something good about Celegorm…”

Her brother looked appalled. While Curufin was disliked by Sindar and Noldor alike for his actions at both Nargothrond and Menegroth, the children of Luthien’s line had a particular dislike for Fëanor’s third son.

“…and Elladan to say something positive about Maeglin,” Buffy finished, looking smug.

“He forged the Gate of Steel,” Elladan managed grudgingly, “and also your sword. And I am relieved indeed to have drawn him rather than Celegorm the Cruel!”

All eyes turned to Elrohir, who was far closer to pouting than a grown elf should be.

“His dog liked him,” he announced at last, to general merriment.

Buffy barely managed not to laugh, especially since she could easily hear the silent up to a point disclaimer her brother had added. It wasn’t quite in the spirit of the challenge, but she had to admit that it was difficult to find much good to say about that particular elf.

“As challenges are the order of the day,” came a quiet new voice, “I have one of my own to issue.”

They all jumped.

Glorfindel had entered so silently that none of them had noticed, and he looked rather reproachful.

“Since you are capable of finding it in your heart to keep an open mind about even Maeglin Lomion,” he said mildly, “You should be able to find one good thing to say about each son of Fëanaro.”

That he chose to use the Quenya name for Finwë’s firstborn rather than the more usual Sindarin version told Buffy that Glorfindel was for some reason taking this personally. She had never stopped to think about it, but now that she did, her grandmother’s older cousin had known them all. They were not merely names from history books to him as they were to the rest of the room.

She flushed, feeling almost guilty, for all she had been the one defending ‘Uncle Butthead’.

“Your brothers and sisters may assist,” Glorfindel continued, his reproving look taking in each and every one of them, “but you may not use ‘his mother was fond of him’ as your good thing.”

Buffy thought for a moment.

“Maedhros was a fighter,” she began, starting with the easier ones. “Even after being Morgoth’s prisoner for so many years, he did not give up. He fought both the Enemy and his Oath to the best of his ability.”

Glorfindel nodded, as if this was no more than he had expected.

“Makalaurë’s music I need hardly mention,” she continued. “But his honesty in parts of the Noldolantë give us details we would not otherwise have known of the time from the First Kinslaying to the Reuniting. And you said I was not allowed to say his mother was fond of him, but you did not say I was not allowed to say my father is fond of him. That was _two_ things, by the way, and I could list more for both him and Maedhros.”

“Noted,” Glorfindel replied. “Continue.”

“Amras regretted his Oath and tried to return for his kin,” Buffy said, continuing in order from easiest to most difficult. “And his twin Amrod was the only son brave enough to speak against his father at Losgar, which I count no small thing.”

Glorfindel’s mouth quirked, as if he might say something, but he kept silent.

Buffy had to think harder now, for she was down to the three who had died at Menegroth, where they had been slaying her Sindarin kin – including her great-grandparents and great-uncles.

“Caranthir came to the aid of the Haladin, and offered them lands in his domain for their valor, yet took it not amiss when they declined.”

And now she came to the most difficult two. Elrohir, drat him, had already taken the most obvious thing for Celegorm.

“Celegorm…” she trailed off, looking to her brothers for help, but finding only blank looks, as they were as at a loss as she was herself.

“Celegorm tried very hard to forge an alliance with Thingol,” piped up a small voice.

All eyes turned to Estel in surprise, who turned red in the face of so much attention.

“Well, he went about it quite wrongly, but his idea that it was important to bring the king of Doriath into the league against Morgoth was sound, was it not?” Estel persisted.

“True enough,” Buffy admitted. “So that is one good thing about Celegorm. And Curufin I have already said fathered Celebrimbror, who crafted the Elfstone and worked with the great dwarrow craftsman Narvi in the golden days of Moria.”

Glorfindel looked rather disapproving.

“The best you can say of Curufinwë is that he was his son’s father?” he asked. “I am disappointed, young one. You take such an interest in the crafting and forging of weaponry and armor yet do not know that Curufinwë was one of our greatest smiths?”

His glance swept the room, and most looked down to avoid it, reluctant to admit that they had rarely considered Curufin’s talents, only his ill deeds.

“Before the Oath and Endorë changed him, Celegorm was a friend to all animals. Though he was a great hunter at need, I have also known him to heal injured baby birds and adopt orphaned fawns. And in addition to his other fine qualities, he taught your grandmother to shoot a bow long before she left Aman. Morifinwë, impatient as he may have been in all other matters, could mend any damage to his younger brothers’ or cousins’ clothing, or if he could not, would remake them so cleverly that we usually managed to avoid a scolding.”

“Makalaurë was the gentlest of the seven, and the funniest. You know his great works, but you have not heard the little tunes he would make on the spot for us children, which we esteemed greater than his serious pieces by far.”

“That Maitimo would search the woods for your great-uncles surprised none who knew him, for he was ever the confidant and protector of all his younger kin, and never failed to have a kind word or listening ear in our moments of need.”

Buffy’s eyes shot up, for even now, three ages later, Glorfindel’s voice trembled when he spoke of his oldest cousin’s kindness. It opened a new window of insight for her, though not one she liked – Maedhros being so well loved by his brothers and younger cousins added a fresh dimension to his imprisonment by Morgoth.

His eyes met hers, and in that silent interchange, he confirmed what she had just realized. Maedhros’ torment had not been his alone. Morgoth had known that by hurting the eldest Fëanorion, he struck at the House of Finwë in its entirety.

“This has been a most instructive lesson,” she said quietly. “You should join us more often, Glorfindel.”

“Not everything can be found in books,” Tindomiel agreed. “You were there.”

“For some of it, at least,” Glorfindel amended wryly. “I do not know that I will attend every afternoon, but I will stay longer now if you wish it. Perhaps you might want to hear of the Mereth Aderthad? The histories say little of it, for times of peace and happiness are often not held as noteworthy as battles and deaths.”


	39. The Full Buffy Experience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone puzzled why they got an update notification, the new chapter is [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1159991/chapters/23392710) \- I found one that missed getting posted in sequence.

It was a gorgeous summer day. In Sunnydale, it would have been a beach day, but Imladris was a little too far for trips to the beach - even now that she was no longer ‘grounded’. Celebrían had relented after a full year of her daughter doing nothing more worrying than sparring with Glorfindel or her brothers.

Buffy still was sticking fairly close to home anyway. She didn’t feel the urge to go visiting or roving just now. At first she’d thought maybe there was something wrong with that, but then the twins asked why it should be wrong to enjoy life at Imladris if that was what she wanted to do. Just because Arwen felt like visiting Lorien for a while didn’t mean anyone else had to go anywhere.

So she had settled into life as an elf – which really didn’t seem all that strenuous. Her parents had been happy to see her applying herself seriously to learning tengwar and history, not to mention making real progress with Sindarin, and Glorfindel was pleased to have such a promising protégé to train. And of course she got to spend plenty of time with the Scoobies.

While they all cheerfully lived in each other’s pockets, sometimes gathering in one person’s room, sometimes in another, and exploring the entire valley, Tara’s garden and their library room were their favorite spots. But on a day like this, all Imladris hangout options left something to be desired. Which was why she’d begged her brothers for advice on where they could go swim.

There were many waterfalls, streams and small lakes in the valley, and in her father’s house (if house was the right word for what was really more a complex) several had been diverted into fountains and reflecting pools. But they weren’t good for swimming – the fountains and pools were too small for more than wading, and the water that flowed through the valley came straight from the mountains – it moved swiftly and ran cold, meaning ‘swimming’ even in the few spots placid enough to allow it would be only a quick dip before numbness set in.

Fortunately, Elladan and Elrohir were able to direct her to a place suited to what she had in mind – a waterfall that fed into a pond deep enough to swim, shallow and clear enough to not be dangerous, and above all, with calm water in a sunny spot that would be warmer than anything in the valley, a temperature that would allow actual swimming and soaking, not just dashing in and out again. The twins said it even had a rock ledge at one side of the pond, suitable for sunbathing with the water below deep enough that it was safe to jump into.

The downside to their swimming hole was that it was an hour’s ride from the south fork of Bruinen. Buffy had noticed that she and Tindomiel sweat a lot less since returning to Arda – apparently another benefit of elfdom – but the Scoobies would be uncomfortably sticky by the time they got there.

However, the alternative was sitting around the fountains pretending they were soaked because they’d ‘accidentally’ splashed each other whenever Lindir gave them suspicious looks, so they decided to make a day of it.

Buffy told Tindomiel – who was bored silly with her usual crony Estel off visiting elves who lived further down the valley to hear about Fornost in the days of the kings – that she could come along if she’d sweet talk the cooks into packing whatever elves thought of as picnic food for them in addition to the watermelon and berries Tara and Xander had picked from her garden and the bread Willow and Anya had baked.

Buffy hadn’t been allowed back in the kitchens since she and Xander had tried making pizza. The head cook had laid down the law – when a pizza oven was built to Xander’s specifications, they would happily give her whatever she needed to make pizza, but she wasn’t making it in the main kitchen. She wasn’t sure if it was the somewhat messy experimental process of pizza making for the first time in Middle Earth, its California origin, or the fact that neither Buffy or Xander had been able to explain it without using ‘California’ words that had irritated Caraeson so. Either way, it was safer to send her little sister.

By the time four humans, two elves, food, towels, blankets, books, balls, and the rest of what they all thought appropriate to take on their outing were packed and they were ready to ride out, it was already mid-morning. Celebrían saw them off with an amused look and an admonishment to her older daughter to look after her little sister, and to all of them to remember sunblock and start for home well before nightfall.

The ride, while slightly warmer than pleasant, was mostly fun, since it was a route none of them had ever taken before. Buffy’s few excursions outside of Imladris of late had been in a more westerly direction, toward the Shire, but today they headed almost due south.

It ended up taking them closer to two hours than one to find the twins’ swimming spot – Buffy suspected that when the boys went, they probably made a race of the ride, but everyone in this group had preferred to go slow and enjoy the scenery.

It was already lunchtime by the time they arrived, but the decision to swim first was unanimous.

Xander shed his usual daywear, which had been ‘elfized’ as Willow put it, in favor of one of his Hawaiian shirts and swim trunks, while the girls happily stripped down to bathing suits. After splashing around for a bit, they set out the food and had a blissful picnic in the shade.

Tindomiel had just suggested a sit down game of monkey in the middle when Buffy stiffened. Everyone else’s eyes went to her immediately – they all recognized the signs of Slayer mode, even if they hadn’t seen it lately.

“Dawn, get in the water, and stay to the back, against the ledge,” Buffy instructed tensely.

The other three women traded glances and then moved as one to herd Tindomiel into the water before she could protest.

“Don’t go up on the ledge until we’re sure whatever it is doesn’t have arrows,” Buffy added with a frown. Orcs weren’t good archers, but even bad archers could get lucky.

“Spidey sense tingling?” Xander asked grimly.

“More than just tingling,” Buffy replied. “Something wicked this way comes.”

She glanced at their bags, which she only now realized were deplorably light on weapons. She had a single hunting knife, more out of force of habit than any real worry about being attacked this close to home.

“Look on the bright side,” Xander suggested.

Buffy raised an expectant eyebrow.

“There’s plenty of rocks,” Xander said with a grin.

Buffy glanced back. Aside from the ledge her brothers had spoken of for sunning, the cliff the pond backed up against was high enough that she was fairly confident nothing was coming at them that way.

“Take some rocks and get ready to defend that ledge,” she suggested. “That’s the fallback.”

Xander nodded, and grabbed a single bag that he summarily emptied of its contents. Slinging as many rocks as he could easily carry into it, he swam for the far side and hauled himself up the rough cut steps to the ledge to what had just become his position.

“Will?” Buffy asked quietly.

 _Don’t worry about us_ , she heard Willow say in her head. _Tara and I may not be able to do as much damage here as we could in Sunnydale, but we can still make sure that anything that tries to come into the water after us will_ really _regret it_.

The orcs that emerged from the trees were not what she’d been expecting. They were bigger – and less shy about being out in daylight than any orcs she’d encountered in numbers smaller than battle horde.

She backed up to the edge of the water, her feet nearly in it, but still on firm ground.

The leader of the group – and they were more like a cohesive unit than the small bands she’d fought alongside her brothers on the way to Lorien – laughed and yelled something that she didn’t understand when he spotted her.

She cocked her head to one side. Whatever he’d said sounded nasty, but possibly that’s just because he’s speaking orcish – or whatever orcish was properly called – which was a demon language in her book.

Apparently unhappy with her lack of response, he switched to Westron.

“The youngest one is mine – she’ll be nice and tender,” he smirked.

“I don’t think so,” Buffy replied calmly, knife at the ready. Twenty to one wasn’t great odds, but they didn’t have arrows, so she’d take it. She hoped Xander had decent aim with his rocks.

“She-elf, you are either arrogant even for your kind, or you’re not very clever. I have twenty men. You have only one knife,” the orc pointed out with a laugh.

The gleam in her eye as she changed her grip on the knife was pure Slayer.

\---

Elrond had felt a growing sense of unease all day, and finally sought out his wife to ask where the children were. The last time he’d had a feeling like this was the day Celebrían and Anariel had disappeared. His foresight rarely showed him danger to his immediate family – sadly, he was all but blind to perils to those he cares most about until it is upon them.

“My love,” he greeted her. “Have you seen the girls this morning?”

He knew the twins were in the training yard, and Arwen was safe in the heart of Lothlorien.

Celebrían nodded, unconcerned.

“They’ve gone to the Azure Falls to swim,” she replied with a smile. “Elladan and Elrohir explained to Anariel how to get there and she promised she would tell them if she was at all unsure of the path.”

She has always been more adept than he at sensing the children at a distance, and she smiled still brighter as she reached out to Tindomiel.

“They are well, husband,” she assured him. “They have just reached the falls, and Tinu is delighted with how blue the water is.”

Elrond took a deep, bracing breath. Perhaps he was overreacting. But if he was not, if it was happening again…

“I think I will ride out to be sure there are no orcs about,” he said.

Celebrían’s expression said clearly that she was not fooled by his nonchalant tone.

“My love, Anariel is well able to handle an orc or two,” she pointed out. “If any are foolish enough to venture so near.”

He took her hand, and let her feel the gnawing dread that has only grown while they have been speaking.

“It will be an hour at least before you can reach them,” Celebrían whispered, shaken.

“All the more reason to go at once, and swiftly,” he replied, kissing her farewell. “I will see them safely home. I would rather my daughters think me the world’s most nervous father than see any of the children harmed.”

His sons could not miss his hasty preparations to ride out, so he was unsurprised when they joined him in the stable to saddle their horses, Glorfindel right behind them.

He raised an eyebrow, which Glorfindel matched at once. Neither of them was fooled that the other was not worried.

“Ada,” Elrohir said urgently. “Anariel has neither sword nor bow with her.”

“We checked – all her weapons are still in her room,” Elladan explained.

At that, the four elves rode as if balrogs were at their heels.

\---

The ride passed in a blur, Elrond feeling nearly sick by the time they drew close enough to hear the fighting.

The sound of blade hitting flesh with great force was unmistakable, as were the shrieks and screams, accompanied by the squeals and clamor that had given rise to the name glamhoth.

The riders reached the clearing just in time to see the last body hit the ground – the last of far too many, he realized, taking in the corpses littering the shoreline. They were all uruks, not the smaller orcs that occasionally ventured down from the mountains. Uruks have not been seen on this side of the Misty Mountains in centuries.

Elrond still did not breathe easily, though, because his daughter, his golden haired child, was absolutely _covered_ in blood. She might have been swimming in that instead of water. True, it looked to be the black blood of the uruks, not her own, but it was still not a sight he had ever wanted to see.

She was clutching an orcish blade in one hand, facing the opposite direction. Breathing heavily from exertion, there was something almost feral about her.

“Ada!” called a relieved voice.

Tindomiel had been moved as far as possible from the threat of attack, sitting on the ledge above the water. Anya and Xander had placed themselves in front of her, while Willow and Tara guarded the only way up.

“ _Buffy, dad and our brothers are here, and Glorfindel too_ ,” Tindomiel exclaimed in the California tongue.

Elrond was not sure if she said it out of relief – Celebrían has warned him several times that she thinks both girls may revert to that language if badly frightened or injured, it being the one they learned first – or because she was concerned that her sister will not recognize that the newcomers are not foes.

As Anariel turned to face them, it occurred to her father that it might just be both. She had taken out the entire group of uruks on her own, unarmed until she appropriated the weapon of an enemy. There was something in her eyes that was not elvish, or even mannish, and Elrond found himself uncertain for the first time in many years what exactly it was he faced.  
He wondered faintly if this was what Celebrían meant when she warned him he hasn’t had the full Buffy experience yet.

“What injury have you taken?” Glorfindel asked briskly, preempting anything Elrond or his sons might have said.

Anariel looked at them unflinchingly.

“I’m fine,” she said, sounding slightly distant, almost confused.

She blinked, and shook herself. When her eyes opened, whatever that strangeness in them had been was gone again, and it was only Anariel looking back at her kinsmen – disheveled, bloodsoaked, but undoubtedly herself.

“I’m-“

She paused, looked down, and couldn’t keep the look of dismay off her face as she caught sight of herself.

“I’m _disgusting_ ,” she pronounced, sounding more horrified by her current state than by the uruks.

Willow and Tara had paddled to shore, and gave her sympathetic looks.

“Ew,” Tindomiel exclaimed, wrinkling her nose as she drew close enough to get a good look at her sister. “You’re gross! Don’t go in the water, you’ll foul it.”

Anariel gave her sister a glare that said quite plainly that she would not be riding home like this.

“She has a point,” Anya announced as she and Xander climbed out to look for towels. “The swimming hole is so blue because the water is clean. If you use it to wash that mess off, it won’t be.”

“Here,” Willow said helpfully.

She and Tara bent down to touch a hand each to the surface of the pond. A large amount of water suddenly rushed up to dump itself over Anariel’s head. It made a good start at wiping her clean, but the girls ended up having to repeat whatever they had done several times before Anariel looked less miserable.

“You should _never_ travel outside of Imladris without a weapon,” Elrond told his now sopping wet daughter, hugging her tightly in his relief. He could see his sons treating their baby sister similarly. This had been far too close a call for any of their liking.

“I had a weapon,” Anariel protested, her voice somewhat muffled against his chest.

Because he was still holding her, he heard her silent but pointed comment to her brothers.

_Although I would have brought more if I knew the swimming spot might have orcs…_

“An orcish sword does not count,” Elrond told her sternly.

“I have a knife,” his daughter replied.

He looked at her, eyebrow raised expectantly, waiting to see where she might be hiding this knife.

“I don’t know where it is _now_ ,” she huffed, wrapping herself in the towel Anya handed her – at least, wrapping herself as best she could with her father unwilling to let go of her.

“What did you do with it?” Glorfindel asked reasonably.

There was a snort of muffled laughter from Xander.

“The orc captain made the mistake of telling her she was pretty stupid for an elf if she couldn’t see that he had twenty guys and she only had one knife,” he snickered.

“Which does not answer my question,” Glorfindel said patiently. “Where is the knife?”

“Over there somewhere,” she said with a vague wave in the direction of the most concentrated area of corpses.

“Probably still firmly embedded in Captain Smartass’s eye socket,” Xander added cheerfully.

The eyes of all four male elves turned unerringly to Anariel.

“I threw it at him,” she explained, as though it should have been obvious.

They continued to stare at her.

“I may have only had one knife,” she shrugged, “but he only had one skull.”


	40. Any Way The Wind Blows

Celebrían had never doubted that she had chosen correctly when she took the risk of using Tindomiel’s blood to return herself and her daughters to Middle Earth.  This was where they belonged, all three of them, and to finally be able to reunite her family and let them all heal was something she would never regret.

But she did occasionally wonder if allowing Xander, Willow, Tara, and Anya to accompany them had been wise. Not so much for their own sake – for she suspected that life in Arda was much better, and certainly safer, for them then life in Sunnydale had been. They were Anariel’s brother and sisters of the heart, family in all but blood, a relationship the eldar did not hesitate to recognize.

And yet- they were mortal. Putting off the moment of a parting which would endure until the remaking of the world would only make it more painful, not less, when it finally came.

Had they been left in Sunnydale, she did not doubt Anariel would have grieved at the loss, but she would have recovered quickly with her brothers and sisters around her. A few years was scarcely a moment in the life of an elf, paling to nothing against the lifetime of Arda.

Here in Imladris, barring misadventure, her husband and mother foresee that the Scoobies’ days will stretch to the span of the men of Numenor. It is a longer time than any of the children had expected, a repayment in the smallest of ways for what they had given up without hesitation by following Anariel.

But even that was a doubled-edged sword, for the longer their days twined with Anariel and Tindomiel’s – and even with Arwen, Elrohir, and Elladan’s, for her older children have of late taken to treating Anariel’s foster siblings as their own much as they do Estel – the harder that loss will be when it finally falls on them.

She cannot help the ache in her heart at the thought. She prays that the children’s days may be as peaceful and long as her husband’s brother’s were, that it be granted them to accept the Gift as a choice made freely in their own time rather than a burden thrust upon them suddenly by sickness or war.

Yet for every time it occurs to her to worry, there is a moment that balances it out – sweetness enough to blot out the thought of the bitter yet to come.

One such moment is before her eyes – and ears, and other senses as well, for the children are singing on more than one level. Though Willow has music enough on her laptop, this was purely them.

_Elrond!_ she called mentally, careful not to disturb the show in the garden. _Come here, my love – there is something you will want to see. But quietly!_

She doubted even Anariel’s sharp ears would have caught the sound of her father’s footsteps as he approached Tara’s garden. She did regret that there were no cameras in Middle Earth to capture both the children themselves as well as the expression on her husband’s face as the music reached his ears and his mind.

She would dearly love to be able to share it with their kin across the Sea, who she doubts will ever see Anariel like this.

The instrumental accompaniment was purely mental, and doubtless provided by Anariel and Tindomiel. All the children were taking turns with the lyrics, though how they were working out who took which line was quite beyond Celebrían.

“I see a little silhouetto of a man!” Tindomiel belted out in a falsetto.

“Scaramouche!” – Tara.

“Scaramouche!” – Willow.

“Will you do the fandango?” Xander was deepening his natural voice to the point of ridiculousness.

“Thunderbolts and lightning,” Anya joined in, managing to sing in a Muppet voice.

“Very very frightening!” Celebrían was surprised to hear that Estel had been taught enough to keep up with this – or perhaps he had simply been instructed about that single line.

“Me!” Anariel hardly got the note out for giggling.

Elrond turned to his wife in bemusement as the children continued their impromptu singalong.

“What is this _Galileo_?” he asked quietly.

Celebrían had to suppress a laugh of her own at the question. Her poor husband was trying so very hard to learn about the culture of California, or at least enough of it to understand his daughters.

Anariel in particular had a rather misguided tendency to assume that the expressions and metaphors that were well known to the youth of California would somehow be understood by the elves of Middle Earth. Elrond did his best to keep up.

“Magnifico…o….o…o”

More of the children joined in on each ‘o’, with Willow, Tara, and Anya jumping up into a chorus line as they joined in.

Celebrian did her best to explain Galileo and Figaro quietly, while the children continued to sing.

“I’m just a poor boy, nobody loves me!” Xander belted out in mock-tragic tones, to the giggles of the girls.

“Spare him his life from this monstrosity!” Anya’s line was practically a command, and Celebrían could easily picture her giving it in earnest to any foe foolish enough to threaten her boyfriend in front of her.

The peal of laughter that rang out to “no! no! no! no! no!” with each child taking a no was as sweet as any music to Celebrían’s ears.

“Oh mamma mia, mamma mia, mamma mia, let me go!” Tindomiel sang, through giggles that sounded as if she were being tickled while she tried to sing. Peeking around the bushes, Celebrían saw that was because Estel had indeed launched a fierce tickle attack.

“Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me,” Willow sang, her eyes dancing with laughter.

Elrond could make neither head nor tail of the words, for between the borrowed Italian words, the mention of Beelzebub, and the general high spirits that had the children hamming it up at every opportunity, there was precious little clear enough for him understand.

But he was smiling all the same, mostly because Anariel was.

“For me!” Anya insisted.

“For ME!” Anariel finished emphatically.

And then the sudden crescendo nearly took Celebrían’s breath away – the children were in such a rapport as they sang and danced around that she could hear the music as clearly as if Freddy Mercury and company had set up a stage just beyond her sight.

It wasn’t just the music, though – it was the sheer joy, as wide and bright as the summer sky above them.

Anariel had been a cheerful child, but it had been years since Celebrían had heard her daughter so truly happy. Probably since before the Slayer, she realized with a sudden pang.

The battle at Erebor was the last real fighting her daughter had done aside from that one incident with the orcs last month.

Sparring and training with Glorfindel was not the same – there was no real danger to her there, for her older cousin would allow no harm to come to her. Celebrian knew more sessions than not ended for minor scrapes that Anariel scarcely took notice of, called as much for Elrond’s peace of mind as for Glorfindel’s.

Elrond had begun teaching her the basics of spear-fighting, for the Noldor had been as fond of the spear as the Sindar were of the bow. But his daughter looked on that as a treat, and regarded it as daddy-daughter time rather than real training or a tedious lesson.

And with no threat hanging over her head, no constant danger, and all the time in the world to spend with her friends, Anariel had rediscovered her joy.

“Nothing really matters…”

“Anyone can see.”

“Nothing really matters to me.”

The children ended up sprawled on the ground, giggling.

Celebrian committed every giggle, every smile to memory, a treasure against the days when only the memory of such unshadowed joy would remain.

And she prayed to any Vala that would listen that it might last as long as possible.


	41. Lost On The Road

Anariel was thankful that she was seated between her brothers. This was turning out to be the most terrifically boring formal meal she’d ever suffered through.

_You are young yet, nethig,_ Elladan informed her helpfully.

She didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow as she passed the platter of honey roasted parsnips as if that was what her brother’s silent aside had been about, keeping a blandly pleasant expression on her face. Her brother might not be particularly hungry, but it was one of his favorites, so at least he wouldn’t complain.

_I am not that young and cannot say she is wrong,_ Elrohir groused from her other side. _Even Mithrandir is rather subdued this evening._

Anariel sighed and added another herb roll to her own plate.

At least the food was good. That was about the best that could be said for the evening with any honesty.

Mithrandir on his own would have made for a lively meal, with much news traded back and forth, stories she hadn’t heard before, and jests and wordplay flying merrily about.

Curunir was a different story.

For a start, her father didn’t trust this wizard as he did Mithrandir. That was good, because Anariel had disliked him almost from the first. Something about him made her spidey sense tingle, and not in a good way.

More to the point, his presence meant that neither Estel nor Tindomiel were allowed to eat with the rest of the family this evening – they were instead in a remote part of the valley, with a few elves Elrond and Celebrian trusted to keep the two younglings out of trouble.

Though all Curunir’s questions this evening about Tindomiel had been polite, there had been a few too many of them for Anariel’s comfort. Or anyone else’s, she suspected.

There had also been too many questions about her life in California. Fortunately, with all four Scoobies also present, she didn’t have to field them all herself. Unfortunately, she couldn’t speak to them silently as she could her brothers. (They’d had no opportunity to test whether or not Willow’s brand of magical telepathy was audible to wizards or not.) They were on their own to navigate Curunir’s curiosity.

But the four of them were no more stupid than Anariel was herself, and while on the surface they seemed to be answering the wizard’s questions with great patience, they were actually sticking as much as possible to the bland and innocuous.

Anya, at least, was openly showing that she didn’t like it. At one point, she had thrown the white wizard a look that suggested she was wishing her vengeance days weren’t firmly behind her.

Anariel would have been interested to see what she’d had in mind.

The only saving grace in an evening that veered between mind-numbingly boring and teeth-grindingly aggravating was that Curunir was not adept at osanwë – whereas Galadriel had passed her talent on to not only her daughter, but all five of her daughter’s children. The three present at dinner had been making use of that blessing non-stop.

_You would be subdued as well if you’d been conned into bringing that guy who completely ruins the mood of the room,_ Anariel sniffed.

_This is such a common phenomenon in California?_ Elrohir asked mischievously.

Anariel was saved from glaring at him by the realization that the guest they’d just been discussing had asked her a question.

“I’m so sorry,” she said politely, pasting a convincingly contrite expression on her face. “I lost track of the conversation for a moment.”

Her brothers’ mental laughter didn’t make it any easier to look attentive.

“We were speaking of orcs, my lady,” Curunir said smoothly, “And I was remarking how fortunate it is that you are not among those who are disturbed at the thought of slaying them.”

“Indeed,” Anariel replied, trying not to let the sarcasm show. “I could hardly have acquired my epessë if I was.”

_A Slayer who gets upset about actually slaying things_ would _be rather useless,_ Elrohir sniffed.

“They were elves once, you know,” Curunir continued, as if this might have been unknown to her. “Taken by the dark power, tortured and mutilated.”

Anariel gave Anya half a glance before looking to her brothers, who were both suddenly giving the wizard their full attention.

She didn’t need the suppressed anger radiating from the twins to tell her the chief of the istari was way over the line with that remark.

She frowned.

“You tell the descendants of Elmo and Thingol nothing we do not already know, Curunir the White,” she said, letting a hint of steel creep into her tone. “Or do you imagine _we_ could avoid learning that they had been elves, tormented and twisted by Belegurth and Gorthaur into a mockery of that which they once were?”

“So it does not trouble you at all, my lady,” the wizard asked, as if impressed, “the idea that you may have slain kin?”

Her mother’s glass met the table with all the grace one would expect of Galadriel’s only daughter, but somehow the sound carried as crisply and ominously as if she had drawn a blade.

Anariel didn’t need her nana jumping in for this one. Particularly not when she was starting to think that her mother’s solution might be whatever Middle Earth’s equivalent of a fire axe to the head was – no  matter how amused she would be to see the look on Curunir’s face when the blade met his skull. She enjoyed seeing demons, minions, and other forces of evil underestimate her mother almost as much as she enjoyed them underestimating her.

“Celebressil died before the rising of moon or sun,” Anariel replied dismissively. “And I rather doubt Gilornel, Faenil, or Galathil survived three ages of the earth only to die on _my_ sword, much less Thingol’s sister or her husband. Though if they had, it would have been a mercy to release their spirits from such imprisonment, that they might seek healing in the Halls, and have the hope of life afresh, as they were meant to be, and eventual return to the company of their kin.”

The idea of slaying something that had once been her own blood might have been a lot more shocking were it so close to what she had been used to in Sunnydale. But she had returned to Middle Earth well accustomed to the idea ‘when you look at a vampire, you’re not looking at your friend, you’re looking at the thing that killed them.’

She’s heard the stories of what happened to the elves who disappeared in the dark, in the days when there were only stars.

The Vanyar, she had learned from her father, did not speak of those of their number who had been lost on the Journey or before it. In their telling, their entire tribe had reached Aman. The Noldor, never ones to shy from hard truths, had recorded names, and places, and whispers and fears. The Lindar sang of their disappeared, and their hopes that they would someday return.

It was the Sindar who had discovered, in painful detail, what had happened to their missing. Too many of them had been sent back, and too many of their mates or kin had faded for the grief of having to kill one they had held dear, lest they kill others.

Learning her mother-line had driven home that point. Elmo had lost his wife and two of his children to the Hunter, as well as his sister and her husband. Small wonder he had been unwilling to abandon Thingol knowing he lived. His wife had been ‘returned’ not long after Thingol and Melian had emerged from their forest idyll.

Elmo, his remaining son, and his law-son had all died fighting the Enemy’s creatures.

If Anariel had ever faced an orc that had once been her grandfather’s grandmother, or any of her children, she would not have been looking at her family. She would have been looking at what was left after the Enemy killed them.

The idea that the white wizard had brought this up out of relief that she was untroubled by such an issue was ridiculous. There had been _malice_ in that question.

“I will thank you, Curunir the White, not to class my children as Kinslayers at my table,” Celebrían said frostily. “They know their family history as well as any, and to imply that my daughter may have faced my father’s kin who were taken by the Hunter is outrageous.”

“My deepest apologies, my ladies,” Curunir said smoothly, looking sufficiently distressed that a casual observer might believe his regret genuine. “I overlooked that speaking of ‘kin’ in this case was not general as it might be for other elves. One forgets that she is the granddaughter of Celeborn as much as of Eärendil.  I am confident you will find those taken by the Darkness awaiting you in the West.”

Celebrian inclined her head politely, but none of her children were foolish enough to think that meant that the conversation would be forgotten.

Anariel did her best not to laugh out loud at Curunir’s less than deft save. No one in Middle Earth thought of her as Eärendil’s granddaughter. The first name out of everyone’s mouth when they met her was always Galadriel. Her grandfather the star was not often spoken of, not even by his own son.

Besides, her kin hadn’t been taken by ‘darkness’. They had been taken by Morgoth. And one day, he was going to pay for that. In full.


	42. Hey Little Sister

“What do you have there, little sister?”

Anariel turned with a start, having plainly not expected either of her brothers to be in their father’s study. She had been looking for Ada, not them.

Elrohir tried not to either smirk or preen – he knew it was a sign of how deeply she trusted him that he _could_ startle his small sister, constantly alert as she was to any hint of danger.

Her hand closed protectively around whatever it was she carried.

Not for the first time, he regretted having teased her too soon, on her return from California, about her skills and her lack of years. He and Elladan were old enough that they ought to have shown better judgement, yet somehow they had in their joy and relief overlooked the important fact that their baby sister was no longer a baby, but a young adult who had not grown up with them.

Not only that, her lived experience was all as a mortal. The twins had not considered that telling her how young and untrained she was in her older brothers’ eyes would not sit well – a lack of thought that they had felt keenly once their mother pointed out that Anariel was actually uncommonly skilled by the standards of California for an adaneth of her age. Twitting her about her archery, playfully though it had been meant, had left an impression that Grandfather had only partially remedied on their visit to Lothlorien.

They were paying for it now with interest, for they were rarely the first to hear of any new achievement of Anariel’s unrelated to her fighting abilities – often even Glorfindel knew of such things before they did.

Elrohir, though often reminded that he is the hastiest of the children of Elrond, has been doing his level best to bear this with patience. But he missed so much of being Anariel’s older brother that he does not like missing this too, especially not when his sister is _here_. He should be able to share the joy of her learning new things, and to show her how proud he is of her achievements.

So he did not press her beyond the simple question, just waited hopefully from his perch on the settee.

His patience was rewarded – Anariel opened her palm to reveal a single glass bead.

“It’s my first one,” she said, pride warring with an attempt at diffidence in front of her brother. “Well, except for the seed beads Echadron had me practice first.”

He was unsurprised, for both twins had also begun their education in crafts with glass. Glass taught caution and respect for the materials one worked with, as well as proper attention to one’s masters – lessons their parents felt necessary before allowing them to proceed to metalworking. Arwen and Tindomiel had both preferred more scholarly pursuits. But Anariel had recently expressed a desire to learn how to make her own weapons and possibly armor, so she would be following the same path her brothers had.

Elrohir beckoned for her to bring her handiwork closer, so he could examine it more carefully. As he took it from her, he also caught a glimpse of her mind – and felt, for the first time, how intimidating not only Anariel but also Tindomiel occasionally found it to have brothers thousands of years older than them.

He turned the bead over with careful hands. It was slightly smaller in width than his littlest finger. Anariel had chosen a deep blue for the main color, probably less because it was the color of Fingolfin than because she liked it, and dotted it with the green of summer leaves. The bead was even, and she had managed the difficult trick for a beginner of getting the bead not only even, but having the glass taper in at the central hole rather than outward or leaving a jagged lip.

“Very good,” he pronounced, letting his pride in her skill show in his voice.

“You really think so?” she asked.

It was not mere flattery – hers was better than his own first glassworking effort had been, and he told her so.

Anariel beamed.

“You should see Elladan’s first attempt,” he added generously. “It was ridiculously lopsided.”

“And yet Ada still has it,” Elladan said drily from the doorway. “Just as Nana has yours.”

Elrohir shot his twin an apologetic look, but Elladan did not appear to be annoyed with him.

“I have heard from Echadron that your first lesson went well, nethig,” Elladan continued. “May I see?”

She nodded happily, and Elrohir handed his twin the bead to be inspected and admired.

By the time it was given back to her, Anariel was satisfied that they meant their praise and were not simply humoring her.

“Where is Ada?” was her next question.

“Riding out to check the borders,” Elladan answered. “After Curunir’s visit, he thought it might be… prudent.”

She deflated slightly, plainly wanting to show her father her handiwork before the novelty had worn off or anyone else could beat her to telling him about it.

“He will be back by dinner time,” Elrohir reassured her. “And I am sure he will stop here first.”

Her face brightened, and she set the treasured bead carefully on their father’s desk where he could not miss it before she picked up a book from the space reserved for her with a sigh.

“Problem, little one?” Elrohir asked.

She shook her head.

“No, I just spent a lot longer than I meant to in the glass hall, and I have to catch up on the history of Numenor before Erestor sees me to quiz me about it,” she said mournfully.

“You should be safe enough in here,” Elladan told her with a quirk of his lips that was not quite a smile. “He is seeing to the inventory of the storerooms and won’t have time to bother you before dinner.”

“Here, nethig,” Elrohir added, patting the spot next to him. “Sit with me. If Erestor pokes his head in here, I’ll defend you.”

He was more than happy to have his little sister curl up to him to read. He had missed quiet moments like this while she was still a child, and would take as many of them as he could get to make up for it now.

Thus it was that Elrohir caught her furtive, almost guilty thought as she settled in beside him before  turning her full attention to her history lesson.

_I_ like _making things that have nothing to do with death._

He could also see the memory that went with the thought, a silver haired vampire telling her _death is your art, you make it with your hands day after day._

He said nothing, but dropped a kiss on top of her head as she began reading.

It did not matter to him how mighty a warrior she might be – let all Middle Earth call her Slayer, to him she was still his baby sister. He didn’t care if she never lifted a sword again.

He would much rather see her happy.


	43. Out Of The Ashes

Elrond had ceased to think it unusual to find his middle daughter alone in the library late at night. Tindomiel might still sleep more as the Secondborn than the First, but Anariel had confessed to him that even when she’d believed herself a daughter of Men she had slept less than most.  She may not go without sleep as long as the purely eldarin do, but Elrond cannot be sure if that was because she was peredhil or because of something less clear.

Her return to Arda had caused her hroa to recognize its true nature. Hair that once had streaks of darker color had turned to undiluted gold, features that were already beautiful among the Secondborn became subtly more so. But the power of the Slayer, a power he still did not trust, had not diminished. If anything, it had been augmented.

Limbs stronger and reflexes faster than those of Men were enhanced still further, so that despite her small size she was stronger and quicker than even the Eldar would expect. She healed faster than any elf he had ever seen, though Elrond was uncertain if that was because he has known relatively few Amanyar born in the Light of the Trees. It was rare for her body to retain scars – the only ones visible are from California, a tangible reminder that other world was real.

He could understand that such gifts exacted a price – indeed, it made sense that Anariel must sleep more than most elves to rest both hroa and fëa. She has at least learned to sleep as she needs to, rather than push herself beyond what is healthy as she had done when she first returned from Erebor.

But he found himself concerned about his daughter all the same. The look on her face this evening was more one of an elf walking dream paths with eyes open than exhaustion – and it was no pleasant path she tread, he was certain.

When he caught sight of the book she had not glanced at in the half hour he has been quietly watching, he understood all too well.

It was one of those that told of the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, and not just any account – it was Turgon’s own.

Elrond had not realized until many years later just how carefully curated the library at Amon Ereb had been.

He had been so proud to be given free run of it, allowed to read any book he wanted – he can still remember that being one of the first things he had told Galadriel when she asked how he liked life in the Fëanorion fortress. He may not recall the face of his mother’s librarian, but he remembered the ellon’s hovering presence and repressive attitude all too well. He had rarely been permitted his first or even second choice, steered always to something ‘more fitting for an elfling so young’.

Maedhros, on the other hand, had shown him to the library the first time he had asked for a new book, and sat quietly off to one side to read a book of his own, leaving the elfling to choose for himself. Elrond had gaped openly at the many shelves of books he was free to explore as he would, and spent the rest of the afternoon happily looking them over. Only the bell signaling dinner-time had persuaded him to cut short his exploration and make a choice.

It was only years later, when he was finally able to bring himself to open the trunks that had been sent with them to Gil-galad’s court, that he realized Maedhros had not needed to worry what book he might pick, because any books not suitable for impressionable little eyes had already been removed to safe locations, packed away out of sight.

Elros, with the bitterness of their loss still so fresh, had jeered at him that they had been too young and naïve to see the library for what it was – a bribe, calculated to cozen Eärendil’s clever, bookish younger son into asking no questions his Kinslayer cousins would not wish to answer.

Elrond had been hurting too much himself at the time to challenge his brother’s interpretation, no matter how his heart had protested that whatever else they had done before and after, Makalaurë and Maedhros had _loved_ them. Elros’ fury at Maedhros would have allowed no objection in any case.

The entire library, both the books suitable for children and those removed until a day when they were old enough to read them, had accompanied them to Balar. Their foster fathers had known enough to suspect the goodbyes at Amon Ereb would be final.

When many years later, with older, wiser eyes – eyes that had by then seen and lost much more than the battered young ellon at the close of the First Age – he had finally read his great-grandfather’s account of that bitterest of battles, he had understood Maedhros’ choices better.

When, still later, he looked into his own sons’ innocent little faces, he was absolutely certain that there had been love in his foster father’s actions. He wondered if Elros had ever allowed himself to come to the same conclusion. He had been a father, too.

There were some things that were simply not for children’s eyes.

But his sunshine child was no innocent elfling – California had seen to that, and the heat of battle at Erebor had tempered the young adult that had returned still further. He could not winnow his library for her as Maedhros had for him. She would never accept such treatment, even had he judged the attempt worth undertaking.

He did not know how she had discovered the book. Her reading habits were eclectic, as often as not shaped by nothing more than whim and chance. A word or question from one of her mortal sisters or brothers – for he was pleased to find that she treated Estel as a brother also – would be enough to send her off on some tangent that might make sense only to her.

Elrond’s heart sank when he saw the page she had stopped at.

_…his banner, blue and silver, they trod into the mire of his blood._

If Anariel had to read of the Nirnaeth, he would rather she had stuck to Pengolodh’s drier, less dramatic treatment of the battle. The bare facts were horror enough.

Turgon had been deeply affected by the death of his older brother, greatly though the Noldor outside the Hidden City had doubted it at the time. The vivid prose describing Fingon’s death as seen through his brother’s eyes was as sickeningly clear as one could be without having actually stood by them on that cursed field.

Elrond had often wondered how exactly Maedhros had come to have a copy of Turgon’s account. He had just as often concluded that he might not like the answer to his question and set it aside.

He would not normally disturb his children when they were lost in thought, but this once he felt it was better to do so.

“My sunshine, what are you thinking?” he asked softly, suspecting that she was not even aware of his presence.

His suspicion was confirmed when she started at the sound of his voice.

“Ada!”

She did her best to smile – it never failed to warm his heart that his long-missed daughter always brightened to see him – but it was neither as happy nor as genuine as usual, and slid quickly from her face as the book again caught her eye.

“Ada,” she said slowly. “What are _valaraucar_?”

“That is the Quenya for balrog,” he answered heavily. “Maiar corrupted by Morgoth, creatures of shadow and flame. Of all the elf-banes, the most deadly-”

“Except Sauron,” she finished, but there was a flavor of question to her words.

“Perhaps,” Elrond said. “It is difficult to say – I do not know that they ever contested with each other, though it is also true that Sauron is no longer as powerful as he once was.”

He disliked discussing the Enemy with her, for he privately feared her brothers were correct – it only gave her ideas. But for once, her focus was not on Sauron Gorthaur or his rings, but on something not seen in the light of day since the First Age. That, at least, should be safe enough.

So he told her what he knew of them, what they looked like, how and where they were used by Morgoth, and of the elves that fought them.

“Though balrogs are a foe you need never face,” Elrond concluded with some relief, “for they were all destroyed in the War of Wrath, save one – and that one is trapped in the ruins of the dwarf kingdom of Moria, buried deep and unlikely to emerge.”

The troubled cast of his daughter’s countenance worried him, but there was only so much he could do to reassure her. The First Age was long over, and neither of them could change what had already happened.  They can only look to the war yet to come, and do what they can to make safe the world for Estel’s descendants.


End file.
